The West Coast
by FoundAgain
Summary: A series of oneshots on a series of things. There will be fighting and screaming and loving and comforting. There will be desire and hope and acceptance and remembrance. There will Chuck and and there will be Sarah. Based on lyrics from the titular song.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Ever heard the song West Coast by Coconut Records? I recently learned to play it on guitar, and now the pads of my fingers hurt and I like the lyrics. So here is my middle of the night contribution to the Chuck fanfiction database. More is to come. I don't own Chuck, or the song. Though I highly suggest viewing/listening to both.

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For a second there I thought you disappeared

Look around, around, around again. Casey's behind a barrel, which isn't providing very good cover for the man. Chuck's crouching behind an overturned steel... thingy. It's large, it looms, and seems to be currently very bulletproof. Casey is making hand signals, to Chuck they may as well be rabid squirrel shadow puppets. Casey pulls off a couple quick shots before running over to Chuck all doubled over.

Are you hit?

Uh, no.

Come on moron, we gotta get out of here.

Where's Sarah?

We're getting out of here.

Well O.K., but Sarah is still missing. Where'd she go? The abandoned warehouse... which wasn't all that abandoned... also wasn't all that big, and Chuck had had a pretty good view of the area. She has simply vanished. Poof. Magic.

The next couple days are weird without her. No lunch breaks at the fro-yo place, no looks during ridiculous briefings. Things are emptier. No Sarah. Some spy analyst top-level security guy says he saw:

A flash of blonde hair, I don't know, it might have just been the sun... I mean the satellite _is _accurate. But sometimes... well if it's her, Agent Walker was taken into a van heading towards Los Angeles.

Thank you Agent Rurke. A team will be sent in after her. Good day. No 'But's' Mister Bartowski. Good day.

And then she is back, with just a couple new scratches. They are smiling again and talking again and having poorly made government yogurt again. She has changed a little bit, she is more hesitant, more protective.

I don't want it to happen to you.

I don't want it to have happened to you.

You can't prevent the past, Chuck.

He too is more hesitant, more protective. They both have changed. But it's O.K.. He's Chuck and she's Sarah. You know those two, the love's still there. He just doesn't want her to disappear again, even if only for a couple seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: yeah, these first two are short. what are gonna do about it? You're going to read it twice. So... Thanks for reading! Leave a review, they're inspiring. Even if it's bad. I like when I get e-mail alerts. This one is mid-season three... you know, back when you thought the best way to get chuck and sarah together was to send Shaw through a meat shredder, and for Hannah just to never have gotten on that plane. And then boom. Crazy sexytimes.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or West Coast.

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It rains a lot this time of year.

If it were anywhere else in the world, this sudden rain shower wouldn't seem that strange. But it's Burbank, and we're in the middle of drought season. The rain is coming down in sheets. Or sheet rather, just one unending deluge of pure water. She's sitting on his couch, cuddled inside one of his softest blankets. His best friend is working a shift, her boyfriend is doing paperwork. His girlfriend is ... not here. He is in the kitchen, making tea. Because:

Rain is tea weather. Tea is like rain, you know? Cause of the water? And it's also got that soothing quality that rain has... come on you don't know what I'm talking about? I don't believe this! Rain is like this natural steady rhythm that just keeps saying 'it's all right, it's all right' over and over again! Rain is wet, rain is cleansing, and the best of all, you're inside! So the rain can't getcha. It reminds you of security, which you know with us being spies, is kinda hard to come by, and..

I get it, I get it! Go! Make tea!

She's smiling and laughing. She loves his rambles. Especially when they're true. Rain _is_ tea weather. And blanket weather, and cuddle up to the fire because this is as close to snow as Burbank is going to get weather. It's grab your loved one and hold him close, show him this miracle of nature weather.

He brings the tea, and they sip in peace. The steady beat of the rain on the pane of the window keeps them conscious of the world, but only of the secluded one created within his living room.

Mmm, rain reminds me of home.

Yeah?

Yeah, I mean, not that you should... Um... I grew up in Maryland. Yeah. And rain was pretty normal there. I mean we had dry spells, but we got a good spring dousing. And this, all of this, just seems like a happy memory, before conning, before the CIA, before... this. It brings back innocence. For me. Like you said, it cleanses.

It's soothing. Being cleansed.

Yeah. It's nice to be reminded once in a while.

Wouldn't it be great if you could remember all the time?

They're quite after that, but she snuggles a little closer to him. He wraps his arm around her. They think about a permanent rain. How wonderful life would be. But if that were true, if it always rained, the world would be too different. They would be together, Shaw would be collecting trash in Beckman's office. Or in Big Mike's office. Casey would have his own weapons cache on a small island, though, not saying that he doesn't all ready. Hannah would be alone in Paris. Morgan would be a fantastic hibachi chef. Good Lord, Jeff and Lester would have a record deal! But in this world the rain isn't everlasting. Supposedly we can't have any of those things, the good things, or at least, not all the time. So the rain will stop. But the weatherman says we have till much later tonight until it does.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey. Sup. Thanks for reading, you're a great person. This line repeats in the song, so there will be another one of these... nine chapters from now =) This one is sad. If you're getting confused with my style, please let me know. Or like, if this is the biggest piece of crap you've ever read. I aim to please... somewhat.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or West Coast.**

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We both go together if one falls down.

The arch of his back was lifted high off the surface, yet his legs lay flat, quivering on the hard cement block. His head is thrown back, as deep into the surface as it can, the neck gutting forward. He screams in infinite agony, the primal instinct of man. His chest fills out with the deep breath it takes to sustain his yell. But the pain is no less. There is a wound in his side, and scars on his face. His fists are bruised, bloodied, cut, and clenched. The chains holding him to the cement table, the alter, stay fast. He buckles against them, throwing himself forward again and again and again. the scream is less now. He loses energy. His wrists and ankles bleed from the exertion, from the harsh metal cuffs.

Words are being spoken but he doesn't exactly hear them, they meld with the sound of his heart in his ears. Blood rushes to his head, he feels hot, constricted, panicked. But now they're talking about her.

Where is Agent Walker? Where is Agent Walker? Where is Agent Walker?

He wants to scream. Again. It's Sarah. Her name is Sarah and I don't know where she is. Stop asking. He knows where she is. She's safe in D.C., has been for months.

Agent Carmichael, Agent Carmichael, focus. Where is Agent Walker.

He hasn't been Agent Carmichael in a long time. He hasn't been Agent anything is a long time. He's screwed up, but somehow people still think he's walking a straight line. He's not even walking anymore, he's fallen right off it.

He closes his eyes and hopes the CIA comes up with a clever way to tell Ellie what happened to him.

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Sarah sits in an office in the nation's capital. Day in and day out. She accepts it as punishment. Punishment for failure, for letting her guard down. Today the doctor said she would graduate to crutches, thank God. The past months in a wheelchair have been hell. Her legs are getting strong, but will never be back to what they were. She looks down at their atrophied state. She thinks about crying, she's done quite a bit of that lately. She thinks about screaming, letting loose all her emotions in a simple exertion of raw power. She decides it may spook her fellow desk-mates a little too much.

She logs in to her computer. In this world she is Lindsey Gate. The name is nothing special, it means nothing more than a username to her. She preferred the world where she could be Sarah Walker, but she isn't sure if that one exists anymore.

She shifts through mission briefs and debriefs and reports and etc., deciding where they belong in storage. She has some sort of amazing level of security clearance, but these days it doesn't mean much. The higher-ups either trust her, or think she is too numb to the world to do anything with her privilege. Plus, you know, wheelchair. Not very threatening.

She kinda likes the wheelchair, as hindering as it is. It reminds her of the old life she used to live. Usually she has to move on and forget everything, because technically it never happened. But the wheelchair happened, the accident happened.

And now Casey is gone and Chuck... wait. Click click click drag. Ex-agent is suspected to have gone missing in Burbank, CA. Chuck.

Breathe, remember to breathe. Deep, gulping breaths. Oh God. She's panicking, her vision is blurring at the edges, she feels rigid. Her mind is spinning, but no thoughts are produced. That is Chuck. Chuck has been taken. And she can't do anything about it. Lindsey Gate doesn't know Chuck Bartowski. Lindsey Gate is confined to a wheelchair... for at least three more hours.

And suddenly everything is back. Memories are flooding from the recesses of her mind. Screw Lindsey Gate. Chuck is given a corrupted intersect update. Casey steps into the line of fire, and suddenly isn't as bulletproof as we all thought. There is a piercing pain in her lower back, Chuck is being dragged away by SWAT. The world is on fire. That screaming may be her own...

For the first time, Chuck had truly failed, and they all had paid for it. She would never see him again, but she heard his story in the break room from time to time. And Sarah Walker's story. And John Casey's story. It was weird to hear about a life that had once been her own. Not anymore. Sarah Walker belonged to a Russian Jane Doe operative boxed and shipped back to the motherland to be reunited with her family. Or that was the story. The tag read Sarah Walker, and for all Lindsey Gate knew, Sarah Walker's coffin was lying in the Atlantic. Alex Coburn's coffin finally had a body inside. Another honorable man lying beneath Arlington's fields. Chuck was the only one physically unscathed, but the recent rumor was that the infamous Agent Carmichael was in another Psychiatric Hospital. Rumors, rumors.

She dropped the note on Chuck's disappearance into Beckman's file. Lindsey Gate didn't associate much with the NSA director, but she knew that Beckman recognized Chuck as more than just an ex-agent. Hopefully she will save him. Lindsey Gate continued to sift through files. Sarah Walker put her head down on her desk and began to cry.

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It's been a couple days now. No sign of rescue. His toes hurt the most, if he's being honest. The finger they cut off isn't there, so it can't hurt. He's taken a lot of head shots, but they have this numbing effect... it's when they burn his toes that he feels pain. Pain everywhere.

Where's Agent Walker?

He wants to know why they want to know. Like, what'd she ever do to them? Were they in jail for so long that they don't know that she's no longer in the field? That she no longer exists? He'd given up on answers a while ago. He didn't answer them, they didn't answer him. He'd sacrifice answers if he could save Sarah. He'd sacrifice more.

He's going to die here, this he knows. A few days ago it was scary, but now he wants it done with. He only has two concerns. What will they tell Ellie?

Suddenly the guard leaves the room. Must be big news outside the hellhole. Give or take about three hours, they're back. All of them. Stinky, Mustacho, Grease Head, Wife Beater. Even the Polish guy with the ridiculous accent. Chuck had only seen Polish guy twice before. He liked to use pointy things. Chuck hates pointy things. Chuck hates the Polish guy. They talk amongst themselves for a couple minutes.

If we...

Rob... if we.. said that...

I... said no! Think... Paul will...

... time is the only... choice... Dvetsksy said...

Fine. I'll do it.

Grease Head pulls a gun out from behind his back and walks over to Chuck, quickly. He puts it to Chuck's head. Chuck can see Grease Head's oily eyes staring into his own brown ones. Grease Head's eyes try to look away, but he can't. He can't pull away. Chuck feels tears begin to pool in his. For Sarah. For Sarah. For Sarah. For Sarah. Take it like a man. For Sarah. Suddenly his mind is clear, and the gun is still directed at his temple. He feels sympathetic toward Grease Head, but he can't stop from wondering...

Hey. Do you think Sarah will miss me?

Chuck's other concern.

Grease Head doesn't answer, he checks the safety, looks away, and pulls the trigger.

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Sarah ignores the looks she gets when she crutches into the office.

Whoa that hot new girl is mobile!

Yeah man, not crippled after all. Maybe I would tap that...

Shh... man. Wait till she gets off crutches!

She hobbles over to her cubicle and tries to get comfortable in her desk. Screw it. She gets up and goes for water. On her way to the watering hole she sees Beckman walking toward the director's office. Weird. Sarah hadn't seen the woman in months, ever since Team Bartowski disbanded. Sarah wondered if she'd gotten the note about Chuck... or rather, the missing ex-agent in Burbank, CA. When Sarah gets up again, two hours later, for a bathroom break, she notices that Beckman is still there, yelling at the poor director. She's waving something shiny in her hand and Sarah faintly hears the word 'Sacrifice!' The director shakes his head, she hears a muffled 'not technically an agent.' All nonsense, probably all classified. She tries to ignore it.

The day ends, and Sarah's mind is still on Beckman. Lindsey Gate is thinking about dinner. Sarah wonders why the NSA General would waltz on over to the dreaded CIA. Why not a phone call?

There's a crowd by the elevators, but instead of a general hubbub, there are whispers. Everyone is whispering. Why? Someone moves to leave, and Sarah sees. There's a new star on the wall. There are always whispers following a star, adrenaline deprived agents wondering who gave the ultimate sacrifice.

A young man finds Sarah in the crowd and hands her a note. The director of the NSA wants to see her. Oh God. This can't be it.

She makes her way to Beckman's office without a single thought, she won't allow herself to assume, to create a story. But when she enters...

Sarah... I. I'm sorry, but

Her crutches give way beneath her. Sarah goes from standing strong in front of the General's desk to her knees. Her head is thrown back, her hands cover her eyes, trying to hide from the reality. The General is still talking, unsure how to handle an emotional agent.

We were just too late.

Sarah hears a low, guttural groan, and it takes a minute for her to realize it's her own. She has fallen so far. From the agency's shining star to a lame desk jockey on her knees before her superior, begging for a different life. Begging for Sarah Walker and Chuck Bartowski and John Casey. The best of the best, together again. She has nothing left, no life to live for. Beckman is in front of her now, crouched down so they're at eye level. Sarah can see that she understands, but she doesn't _know_. Sarah's pain is her own, all she can do is yell, hoping that others will listen.

But she's fallen too far for anyone to hear.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Here are some notes for this chapter. I used to be an 11-year old tournament attending soccer player. We are crazy in hotels. We practically get kicked out of hotels, actually. Another note, this one is after everything Bryce/Lou in Season 1. I like this one. It's not as dark and weird as some of them have been, I like to think. Also, I would like to say that I do not have an aversion to quotation marks, but I'm not using them for stylistic purposes. If this is bugging you so much that you can't stand reading this let me know... **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or West Coast

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I talk out loud like you're still around.

Walking walking walking walking. Oop, elevator! Push the button. Up up up up up up up up up. Let people get on. Up up up up up. Ding.

This is my stop! Heh, excuse me...

Walking walking walking walking. Knocking knocking knocking. Waiting. Knocking some more. Still no answer. Well thats weird.

Sarah? You home?

She is moving around inside the room. He can hear her. But she's not opening the door. Is she mad at him? Why won't she answer?

Um... I'm sorry for whatever I did? But, I don't really know what... so why don't you come out here and tell me?

Noooo answerrr. Gah.

Well, I was coming over to ask if you were hungry. Um... I don't know. I am truly sorry, for whatever it is. Let me in! I'll give you a patented Chuck Bartowski hug!

The door remains shut. She turned down a patented hug? Must be horrible... or whatever worse than horrible is. He has to fix this. He can't leave her knowing she's upset.

I can't stand making you, or seeing you really for that matter, unhappy. When you're down then I'm down then Casey makes fun of me then I yell at Casey and he pins me against the wall and you yell at Casey and then there's a circle of yelling, and really, it isn't good for my vocal chords. So I'd like to avoid that...

Seriously no answer? Well she stopped moving around. Maybe she's waiting for more. What's wrong? He wants to go in, comfort her. Maybe it was because of Bryce, was she still upset about him leaving? Again? Or that he'd dated another girl, that he'd broken up their fake-relationship?

I'm sorry about Lou! I'm sorry that Bryce had to leave again!

No answer. Maybe an explanation? Chuck will never understand women.

It's just, I'm tired of liking... ugh...fine. Look, I'm tired of liking you so much and not being able to do anything about it! I'm tired of Bryce swooping in and ruining my life... but making it better too! It's hard to hate a guy that's so great, you know? He's great for you, Sarah, he really is. And before Lou was on our threat list, she was good for me. Not great... but yeah. I want someone great, and I'm afraid you might be the only option!

Still nothing? He's pouring his heart out over here, the eleven-year-old soccer tournament girls are video taping him from around the corner. They'd make awful spies.

Please, Sarah? Open the door? I'm sorry, I won't ever try to replace you again! Well... unless you give up completely and totally and 100%, then I might need to get over you, but come on. She won't be as good... Hi sorry sir, excuse me... you!

People were getting off and on elevators, giving him weird looks. One girl tried to give him her number. Sarah better appreciate this humiliation. There's only one more heart-filled truth he can tell her... he just wants to eat dinner!

Sarah, I love you! Please, please open the door!

The soccer girls give a simultaneous, dreamy, sigh. A business man pats him on the back... Seriously, busiest floor in the building.

Hey, Chuck!

And Sarah pops up right behind him, smiling, like nothing's wrong. Oh God.

Hey... Sarah...

What's up?

I, um... was just checking to see if you wanted to grab something to eat?

Oh, yeah! Sounds good. Let's go!

Sarah... is there someone in your...

Chuck let's go! I'm starving!

Whatever. After all that... he was ready for a mind-blowing kiss, and she missed it all. Guess there wasn't anyone in there at all. O.K. reset. Chuck puts on a bright smile and willingly follows Sarah to her restaurant of choice. She will here that speech one day, he swears it.

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Sigh. Heart flutters. Walking walking walking walking. Wait for the elevator! Push the button, again. Finally! Up up up up up up up up up. Let people get on. Up up up up up. Ding. Get off. Walking walking walking walking. Get key, enter room.

Get ambushed by a masked ninja. Crap.

Thankfully she had shut the door, so she wasn't thrown out into the hallway... but the door didn't feel all that pleasant when introduced so quickly to her back. Sarah throws herself off the wall and sweeps the legs of the intruder. She follows up to pin the attacker to the floor, but misses as the ninja rolls away. She tries to recover, but after one too many glasses of wine and thoughts of Chuck still on her mind, she quickly finds herself pinned to the floor staring into the eyes of her best friend.

Carina? What the hell?

Along with the eyes of her best friend, Sarah is staring as a small, black, somewhat rectangular device Carina is waving in her face.

It's a recorder, stupid. I've been waiting since forever for you to get back from your date.

Carina! It wasn't a date!

That's what you think, sweetie. Trust me, you _have_ to hear this.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This one was hard. The line is open to lots of different interpretations, I started out with a totally different story line for this one... and then somehow I woke up one morning to find that I had deleted it and rewrote... this. poof. I didn't spend as much time as usual editing this, so sorry for any mistakes or discontinuity. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or West Coast

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And if you shake her hard enough she will appear.

Luau music is playing... somewhere. It always seems to be playing here. The sun is shining bright though his window as it sets. It's fairly late in the evening, and Chuck is in Hawaii. Awesome and Ellie brought him along to escape the everyday of Buymoria... and unknowingly the CIA. The couple had decided they too needed to get away, and hence, Hawaii. Chuck looks at the clock. It's 8:34 P.M., which means it's 11:34 back home. Or 11:36 because that clock on his night-stand is two minutes ahead. Been meaning to fix that.

No, Sarah is not here in Hawaii. Which is why Chuck is thinking of the time at home. It's almost too late to call, so he is wondering if he should. He doesn't. Neither of his handlers could get their respective agencies to pay for a trip to Hawaii, so Chuck is being over-watched by some Hawaiian agents... Lilo and Tom. They were cordial, but he missed Sarah and Casey. Lilo was beautiful, but Chuck only had thoughts for Sarah, and was little bit more like Casey. So Chuck didn't have to worry about her, or Tom for that matter. Tom was more like the Casey that wanted to shoot Chuck ten minutes within meeting him. So... no feelings there. Whatever. They just kept watch. Chuck only met them once and gave them calls to let them know he was alright.

He sighs. The beach here is beautiful, and the weather couldn't be better. Tomorrow he is scheduled to climb a volcano with Awesome... which isn't sounding all that appealing, but Awesome had yet to do something that wasn't awesome, so Chuck figured he would have fun. It was right now that was the problem. It was night, so he wasn't going to go knocking on Mr. and Mrs. Awesome, because that would so not be awesome. He didn't have any video games, no shows were on Monday nights... he wanted to talk to Sarah. She always found someway to keep him happy, amused.

Chuck steps out onto his veranda, which provides an amazing view of the setting sun. He stares at his phone, regretting the decision to not call. Quickly, without much thought, he runs into the room and starts throwing clothing around. He finds his wallet in the back pocket of the shorts he wore that day. He flips it open and pulls out the photograph that he has of himself, Sarah and Casey. They're all in tactical gear and look exhausted. His Dad had taken it off a security camera and given the image to Chuck. It was stored carefully underneath photoshopped image of Chuck and Sarah on a camping trip.

He hates the camping picture. It's fake, her smile isn't big enough, her eyes look off-balance. He likes to think it's because they're different every time she's around him. His picture looks like it was taken from a college photo, his hair is longer and little more unruly, his demeanor is more carefree. No intersect upstairs, weighing him down.

Chuck lets the picture flap in the wind, he holds it tightly between his thumb and forefinger, trusting himself to not let it go.

He sits there for maybe a half hour longer, watching the sun fall below. Then he brings the picture, now resting on his lap, closer to his eyes. He examines the way he stands, looking at Sarah, and she back at him. The way Casey walks behind them, rolling his eyes in a manner that some would say is practically protective. He sees the way she has a blood smear on her sleeve, that one guy's nose had really known how to bleed, and the brown smudge Casey had under his eye. Probably mud from the field where he'd been providing cover. Chuck wishes his partners were with him. He lets his hand fall, bouncing against his leg. Gives a final sigh, puts the picture back in his wallet.

The room explodes. Whatever the tiny hut had for a roof before was gone, splinters of wood and plaster are flying everywhere. Chuck lets out a shriek. Smoke fills the room, shouting ensues. As far as Chuck can tell his room has just been invaded by terrorists... or Power Rangers. He couldn't have stopped the flash if he tried.

Then the shouting gets louder. Chuck is showing off every kind of self-defense know to man, and some unknown. The mysterious intruders are falling right and left, and yet more and more seem to be falling in. They all beg him for some kind of mercy right before receiving an incapacitating blow.

Chuck! Please!

Wait, Chuck...!

Umpft, uhrg Chuck...

Wait, we're here... umpguhh...

Every invader that spoke his name scared Chuck more and more. How did they know who he was? Were they after the Intersect? The intersect doesn't seem to understand Chuck's own human limitations, he can feel his arms tiring and his legs turning into dead weights, yet kicks are still landing among the never ending waterfall of attackers. Where are they coming from?

Chuck continues to defend himself, crying out with every move. His desperation soon started to overwhelm the intersect's abilities. His vision started to blur, but his defense didn't waver. Intruders continued to fall out of the sky, only to fall on top their unconscious comrades.

Chuck was on the verge of passing out, when an angel called out to him.

Chuck. Chuck...

Wha.. whassit?

Chuck, everything is o.k., these agents are here to... well, save you.

As the angel's tone changed from serene to blunt, Chuck couldn't help but let his eyes flutter open, even if only for just a second. He became aware that the fighting had stopped. What looked like a SWAT team and a half were laying around his small room, groaning while clutching various injured body parts. Chuck found himself face to face with Sarah Walker.

Or at least her eyes. The rest of her was covered in black with a helmet blocking the majority of her face.

Sarah?

Chuck, are you o.k.?

She's looking around, looking him over. A little out of breath. Checking to make sure everything is alright. She takes off the helmet. Why wouldn't it be? It seems as if the other half of SWAT is falling through the ceiling, and John Casey flies in. Chuck thinks that maybe Casey's eyes are permanently stuck looking at the sky.

Look, moron's fine. Told you.

He... he is. I guess.

Her eyes change suddenly from panicked to confused. Then from confused to annoyed.

Chuck! Why'd you press the emergency button?

Um... I didn't?

Chuck thought hard for a couple seconds before realizing that he had no idea what they were talking about... did he miss an extra emergency button briefing? Maybe he should have read that CIA/NSA policy manual...

Uh, moron? Yes you did. Look.

Chuck looks. Casey is holding his wallet. Behind his picture of the three of them is a small round button looking thingy. What one might refer as just a button. It was very obviously pushed.

Well... sorry? I didn't mean to.

The three agents looked at each other. Casey shrugs, grunts, and starts to move unconscious body's around. Sarah shuffles her feet a bit. Chuck sways a bit from exhaustion.

I... I think I'm going to, uh, sit down...

Chuck?

He wobbles a bit, his eyes glazing over. Sarah catches him and lowers him to the ground. He gives her a grin, and gives up on staying awake. Sarah smiles back, even though he couldn't see it.

Casey grunts and moves over to the window. He let's out a laugh.

What?

Looks like we got the vacation after all. Gotta give Bartowski some credit for this one.

Sarah looks down at the sleeping Chuck, and silently agrees with the Colonel. Despite the general panic she'd been in for the past... twenty minutes, the end result is definitely perfect. She is in Hawaii with Chuck, and luau music is playing... somewhere.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: For this one, I'd say mid-season two. But hey, you can think whatever you like. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck.**

Tonight I think I'll be staying here.

Oh boy. We're running again. Run run run run run. Duck and cover! Eh, not really, but this oddly uncomfortable crouch is going to have to suffice. Whew. Out of breath. Empty room. Where's Sar... Oh. There she is.

Chuck! Where's Casey?

She's shouting over gunfire, and the strain in her voice pulls on his heart. He doesn't want to hear her strained.

Um? Around back? I don't know, I lost track of him after Yousif dropped that flash-bang.

They're inside a room inside a cabin inside a forest. They'd tracked Hiram Yousif to this place. He's an ship captain gone bad. It's pretty interesting, actually. The guy's wife was a CIA agent, and he was a suspected Russian spy. He was her mark. Turns out he wasn't a spy, but they were already married by that point. It was an awful marriage. They divorced, and then he was approached by Fulcrum. He was told that the CIA had ruined his life, more or less. So now he ships in supplies for Fulcrum instead of happy tourists. And Chuck flashed on him at the grocery store.

They hear a thunderous roar come from outside, around back, specifically. The look in Sarah's eyes says Stay Here! Chuck gets up and follows her anyway.

They're running again. He's kinda tired now, they'd done a lot of running to get to this cabin, and had been running in circles for a while now. Literally, figuratively, take it as you will. They get to the other end of the cabin to find Casey smirking, surrounding in a cloud of smoke, dust, and general forest parts. Tree branches, dirt, and the like. He's holding Hiram Yousif by the collar.

Insert corny catch phrase here. Grunt.

Chuck bends over, out of breath. Sarah lets out a sigh of relief, checks her gun, and stalks off to the van. Still trying to catch his breath, Chuck runs after her.

Sar... Sar. Wait up! Hey! Umpf!

Chuck trips over a rather large, and obvious, tree branch. He lies sprawled on the path. Casey walks by, bends down, and picks Chuck up by the back of his shirt. He grunts.

Wonder who peed in Walker's Cheerios this morning.

Wha? Whas that even _supposed_ to mean Casey?

Come on, you just put yourself in a situation that might be considered dangerous for a two-year old, and she didn't even gasp.

Chuck is still panting. He really needs to take up Awesome on his offers for exercise. Awesome always says a woman appreciates stamina. Not that Chuck wants to know that. He tries to formulate a response to Casey's leer, but finds that the NSA Major has already walked away. Dragging Yousif with him.

So he gets in the van, confused about Sarah and sore from his constant state of fear, panic, and exhaustion. She ignores him all the way back to Castle. Casey is still smug from single handedly completing the mission. The debrief with Beckman is to the point, Casey always has a way with answering questions with quick, smart, grunts. Beckman congratulates them for a mission complete, and terminates the link. Chuck tries to catch Sarah's eye, but she's already half way out the door. Casey shrugs and goes to the weapons cache to clean his gun. Chuck detects a faint, dare he say happy, hum coming from the Major.

So Chuck heads on home. He walks in to find Ellie and the Captain watching a movie on the couch.

No Sarah tonight, Chuck? I thought you two had a date?

Yeah, bro! Lady leave you hanging?

Chuck realizes it's still only 7:30, and chokes out some excuse. It involves water guns and spaghetti sauce. He changes his clothes and heads back out. With nothing better to do, he makes his way to Sarah's hotel. His tired legs drag him to her door. Knock, knock, knock.

She doesn't answer, but he knows she's in there. Not wishing to make a fool out of himself, he uses the key she gave him, and lets himself in.

Sarah?

Chuck, now is not the best time.

As the room opens up, the first thing he notices is... nothing. It's completely dark. The shades are drawn, the lights are off. She's in her bed, curled up in the blankets, wearing only a t-shirt and panties. It's too dark for him to notice if it's his shirt or not. Sarah Walker is completely vulnerable. And pissed off.

Chuck. Go. Away.

He's seen her like this before, a very angry pre-date conversation with one Jenny Burton comes to mind. This time, he tries a different strategy. Slowly, Chuck hangs his coat and lies down on the bed, on top of the sheets. Sarah doesn't move, but doesn't say anything either. She's wearing his shirt. They stay like that for a while.

After the first while, Chuck rolls over on his side. She's under the covers, and he's still over, but she can feel the way his body surrounds, encompasses, hers. She's had a bad day, and she can't explain it to him. Deep down, where Sarah allows herself to have unobstructed real feelings, she acknowledges that all she wanted was for him to take _notice._

Halfway through the second while, he pulls her closer to him without thinking. His arm now around her waist. His head dangerously close to the crook of her neck. The need to tell him has been chewing at her all day. It angers her that he can be so happy and so carefree and so _Chuck_ when she is suffering.

At the beginning of the third while, she whispers,

I can't tell you.

She feels him nod his head, his soft curls rub against her neck. But he doesn't say anything. He's still thinking. The silence isn't intrusive or unwelcome. It's the language with which comfort speaks.

It's a little bit past the fifth while when he rolls back to his original position. She almost whimpers at the loss of contact. But she's still mad. Mad at the world, mad at her past, mad at herself, mad at Chuck... Somewhat.

Sarah... I...

He knows what he wants to say. He doesn't know what words to use.

I know you've had a bad day. Maybe an awful day. And... and I know that it's personal. I get that, but I want you to know that I'm here for you. I, uh... I'm not necessarily very observant, so you gotta help me out. I mean, you don't have to tell me... It's just... I don't know. This relationship... it's real. Maybe not romantically or whatever, but we are connected Sarah. Before anything else, we _are_ friends. Best friends, real friends. And every relationship requires some communication. So, what I'm getting at here is: I'm your guy. I'm absolutely, 100%, for you. I'll give you whatever you need, just to see you smile. Whatever is going on right now, whatever is bothering you, just know that I'm going to be right here with you until it's gone, and then I'm going to be right here after it's gone.

She turns to face him, but says nothing. Words are just words at this point. Her mouth is slightly open, in shock. She was still waiting for him to make some sort of untimely joke. But.. maybe... Maybe this time he understands.

It's the anniversary of her mother's death. Cancer. She'd been six and her Mom passed in front of her eyes. Until she was fourteen, she thought she'd killed her own mother. But she can't tell him that. This year, instead of her mother's flickering soul, she sees Chuck, laying right in front of her. Protecting her from her own memories. His eyes are filled with life, his soul is setting hers on fire. This guy... he's here to stay, whether she wants him to or not.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This one took awhile. Last chapter was a hit! I want to thank xx-crispy-mnms-lover-xx for being what I consider the most awesome person in the world. Your constant reviews are amazing. So, my three readers, without further ado: chapter seven.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck

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And you never didn't like this town.

I miss you.

Dial tone.

Sarah's face is stern, unreadable. Inside her heart is exploding. It's sinking deep within the confines of her chest. It's shooting upward so that all she feels is the desire to shout. It's falling so deep behind her walls that it may never come out. Emotional contradictions are tearing her apart in every direction.

She can imagine his lips, almost caressing the mouth of the phone, his hoarse whispered words escaping his throat. His rough hands cradling the receiver, as if he were unsure of it. The realization of what he'd done. The shock and anger at himself, at their situation, as he gently placed the phone back where it came. The way he would take his anger out on his friends, his family. Never on her.

It's coming onto a year now. There's a knock at her door, another hotel room. She checks the eyepiece to see that it's her partner. Bryce. She doesn't bother to let him in, instead she exits. They're in the nation's capital. Tonight they're going undercover at a corrupt rich man's party. He's suspected to be a part of the Ring. Typical Saturday night for the Larkin/Walker Intersect Enterprise.

Sarah wasn't supposed to be here, in D.C.. She was supposed to be in Burbank with Chuck, living out all her deepest desires with the man she loves. Instead, her request to be Chuck's permanent protection detail was denied. She was forced back into the field, agents don't let feelings cloud their missions. Bryce leans in close to her ear. She resists the urge to put him in a choke hold.

You look beautiful tonight, Mrs. Anderson.

His comment's annoy her. She knows he's being sentimental, and it may have been cute if she wasn't so hopelessly devoted to someone else. His only friend. She's annoyed that despite everything else Bryce has taken from Chuck, he isn't satisfied. But she isn't Mrs. Anderson. She isn't Mrs. anything.

You don't look so bad yourself.

She gives him a tight-lipped smile, and he gives her a charming one in return. She tries to reason, tries to figure out, why she loves Chuck, and not Bryce. How one man is better than the other. Well maybe it's not better. Maybe it's not reason. Maybe it's that she wants to grow with Chuck, to learn everything about him. She wants him to know everything about her. Love is the one word that simplifies the emotion of discovering the most important person in your life. Sarah loves Chuck. Chuck loves Sarah. Chuck lives on the other side of the country. She sighs. Bryce lets out a sigh of his own.

Come on Sarah, what's wrong with you? Ever since we left L.A. you've been so moody.

She gives him a look. He should know, after all. As they approach the mansion, she puts on the facade of a happy woman, threading her arm though Bryce's. They enter the ballroom.

They drink expensive champagne and dance beautiful dances. They slip off and grab the intel they were searching for. It's locked inside a briefcase. Neither Bryce nor Sarah know what's inside. It's a relatively simple mission, but all Sarah can think of is how Chuck would find a way to screw it up. Probably a way for the best. A way that would keep the briefcase safe. Some time tomorrow they will probably here a report of a corrupted delivery boy turning the briefcase back over to the Ring.

She heads back to her hotel room. She does have a home here, but she rarely uses it. She's beginning to learn that home isn't where you keep your things, but who you feel at rest with. Comfortable with. The apartment under her name is across town, but she hasn't seen it since before Chuck. Her hotel room is clean and predictable. Her apartment is dusty and a reminder of something she longs for, but doesn't have.

She takes a quick shower and quickly settles into bed. The light is off and her eyes are closed when a knock jolts her from her final waking thoughts. Her first thought: Chuck!

Her second: Bryce...

Her third: Booty call?

She tentatively opens the door, completely prepared to close it in Bryce's face, should he make any presumptuous moves.

Hey, I'm sorry it's kinda late... but can I... you know.

He gestures toward the space beyond her frame, which is effectively blocking his passage into her room. She gives him a little space and he waltzes in. But he doesn't sit. No Champagne, and he is not longer wearing his tux. Thank God, it's not a booty call. Unfortunately, it looks as if he's preparing himself for a serious talk.

I... I've noticed that you're off, Sarah.

She doesn't question him. She holds her robe close to her body and waits for him to continue. She knows she's off. Is he here to tell her anything important?

I just want things to go back to how they used to be, so come on. Talk to me. What's wrong.

If he doesn't know by now, then he will never understand. If he just wants her to say it out loud... well he should know better than that. She remains silent, but takes a seat in the desk chair.

Well, alright. Fine. I know you hate it here, you always hate the down time in D.C.. I just want you to share something with me out loud. You know I know you. So I requested that we do some work in Europe. Maybe some in France, a little bit in Spain... I know how you love the Alps in the spring, so maybe we'll stop in there. Just try not to be so unhappy when we're off mission! Everything will be alright soon enough!

He gives her a little smile, and she returns it. Maybe things will be alright soon enough. Maybe one day she'll learn to live, and possibly enjoy, the life of Mrs. Anderson. Maybe she'll learn to accept working with this new intersect, just as she'd accepted the old one.

But first, he would have to stop making those phone calls.

* * *

Chuck?

Sarah.

I miss you too.

I'm sorry I had to hang up on you earlier.

Chuck?

Yeah?

About what you said... about... life, and home, and family, and love.

Yeah?

I think I want those things too.

That's the best thing I've heard all day.

Yeah? I think so too.

So how are things in D.C.?

Well I think we're leaving soon, missions across Europe...

Hmm.. maybe I can take that trip to France I've always wanted. I could drag Mr and Mrs Awesome along, too.

I would love to see them, tell me about the BuyMore.

About those crazies? Come on Walker, I know your life can't be that bad! Let's see, today Jeff ate a piece of Lester's hair, and then...

* * *

And she would have to stop returning them.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Yayayayay another chapter! Writing on lined paper can be fairly cathartic. guess what, i wrote this one on lined paper. Usually i just type it out, but I was baby-sitting and didn't have a laptop, and I suddenly had a much better idea than what I had going. I didn't spend too much time editing, so it may not be the greatest. Here it is. Assume what you want.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or West Coast.

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I talk out loud like you're still around.

They'd met on a Thursday, her phone had been broken and he'd still been woozy from the previous night's intersect download. If you'd asked him though, he would have said he had too much to drink at his birthday party. His funeral was on a Tuesday.

On their first date he defused a bomb, by the time their second first date rolled around, he was already in love with her. By the end of that mission, she was sure she was in love with him. He died on a Sunday, peacefully.

He proposed to her as they parachuted into D.C. to stop a nuclear war on a Monday. They were married three times. All on Saturday. The first was in Vegas, Elvis was present, the second was on that spot on the beach (mostly to please Ellie), and a final time when she returned from a solo mission in Europe that they thought she wasn't coming home from. She's been presumed dead for eight months. Chuck will be gone longer than that. He had his first heart attack on an unsuspecting Friday just under a year ago.

Sarah Bartowski wasn't one for goodbyes. The last time she saw her father she'd given him a wave, not knowing it would be the last time. When the Woodcombe family moved to New Jersey, she excused herself from the going away party to the bathroom so that she wouldn't fall apart. As every child moved from home she would wait until they were settled in their dorm rooms, and she was in the car, to cry. Those were the four times she allowed Chuck to drive her car. She'd been given the chance to say good-bye to her husband, her best friend, her confident, her lover, and she purposefully passed it up.

That day, her chance, he'd been siting in his favorite chair. She remembered a similar moment from the day they brought home their daughter for the first time. Their first child. He'd taken his little girl from her weary mother's arm and sat with her in that chair for hours, gently whispering in her ear. When Sarah later asked him what he had said he replied:

Just letting her know what kinda family she's popped into.

He kissed her, and held his wife in his arms. He whispered in her ear,

Cause I think it's one of the best.

That day, the return from the hospital wasn't as joyous. He'd had his first heart attack. He moved to his chair slowly, and sunk into it. Sarah placed herself across his lap, letting her fingers run through his gray curls. Her head found his chest. She listened to his heart, to confirm that it was still keeping him alive. Keeping him with her. Eventually she heard his soft voice whisper

I love you.

His chest rumbled and it comforted her to hear him say it, even after all these years, but she knew what it meant. The doctor had given him a year, tops. He was saying good-bye. She said nothing in return. She wasn't ready to say good-bye to him yet.

And now it's that Tuesday. She's standing in the sun, letting the light breeze pull her back and forth. Her husband is being lowered into the Earth. Their four children are weeping softly. The Bartowski family stands connected as one of their own is taken away. One of her girls holds her hands on each side. Her nose is stuffy and throat swells. She wants to scream, wants to cry. She closes her eyes, lifts her head, and lets the wind carry her tears away.

The kids stay in the house for a week, but suddenly its Tuesday again and they have to get back their families, their jobs, their lives. Her eldest promises a grandchild soon, and Sarah couldn't have been happier. Her heart swells with love and pride for her child. She thinks to run and find Chuck, to tell him the good news. She remembers he isn't there. Her youngest, the only boy, asks if she would consider moving into a small condo or... assisted living. She forgives his question with a hug, after all, he'd never seen her in the glory days. She had finally quit the CIA once he had been born.

On Wednesday she wakes up, and the house is oddly quiet. Chuck had always risen before her. He would have her coffee ready, an occasionally breakfast would be included. She smiles as she remembers the mornings she would slip out of bed and quickly serve breakfast while he showered. He had loved seeing her domesticated. At home. And frankly, she'd loved it too. But this morning, nothing is prepared. She pours herself a cup of yesterday's coffee. As she absent-mindedly sipped the hot brew, her lips moved gently against the lip of the mug.

Mmm, thank you honey. It's perfect.

She showers and dresses for her morning workout. She performs a less strenuous form of Tai Chi. Chuck used to join her, before his heart attack. She shuts her eyes to allow the power of her movement to consume her. She feels as if Chuck is there, guiding her arms, steadying her feet. She falls over when she opens them to find he isn't there.

Chuck?

She knows he's too far away to hear. She reasons that trying never killed anyone. Or... trying wouldn't kill her in this particular situation. Then she realizes she's desperate.

Desperate for her companion. For the man that had completed her, that had shown her who she could be. He had freed her from the confines of her own making. He'd loved her. And now he's gone. Does that mean she is no longer loved?

On Thursday she gets a call from Ellie, checking to see if she's o.k. Sarah lies. Ellie lets her.

On Friday she goes to the local field office, the one she retired from ten years ago. She wants the contact information of the CIA director. They chat for awhile. At the end of the day, Chuck is placed in CIA history books as the most important _man_ in 21st century espionage. She thinks he would have liked that.

She spends most of Saturday remembering the first few years of their partnership. She reads the letters he wrote her while she was in Europe. One for every week she was gone, and then one for every month she was presumed dead.

Sunday Ellie calls again.

Monday is Monday. Sarah works in the garden a bit, the gardenia's have gone unattended for almost a week now.

Tuesday she goes to the cemetery. She kneels down by his headstone. Fingering the grass that holds him from her. She tells him about her week. About the kids. About Ellie and Devon and all their little nephews. Only a few people walk by and look at her like she's crazy for talking to no one.

Many Tuesday's pass. Sarah continues to live. She grows stronger with every breath, braver with every step. Confident that just because he left doesn't mean he can't love her from a far.

So one Tuesday, instead of visiting him, she rests in his chair. The favorite one. She sits across it, her legs dangling off the arm of the chair. Her head rests on the back of it. She places her palm on the soft fabric and closes her eyes. She imagines Chuck holding her close, she remembers his heart beat as weakly as it did. Her fingers running through his curls, his eyes burning through hers. The crushing threat of losing him, all the love in her heart, for him. She opens her eyes.

I love you, too.

And says good-bye.


	9. Chapter 9

**IMPORTANT! READ THIS! Hi. These following clippits (clip+snippet) are completely unrelated to each other! There is no timeline, they are all separate... blah blah. Every line signifies the start of a new clippit. Check out the lyrics for this chapter, i had no idea what to do. What's really crazy is that I posted a chapter like... yesterday. The reviews were fantastic, so I wrote another. This one won't make you cry though. I seriously had so much fun writing this chapter, i hope you enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck.

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La la la la. La la la la la.

You are a waffle! A yummy yummy waffle! Hello Mr. Waffle, Goodbye Mr. Waffle! Waffle waffle waffle, I love waffles!

Morning sweetheart.

Waffle?

Of course.

Sarah Walker tosses Chuck Bartowski a waffle. He grins at her, and she at him. They eat their breakfast in relative silence, but he swears he can hear her humming.

* * *

Chuck, my man, hows life with your scrumptious yogurt girl?

He gives his best friend a look.

By scrumptious I was obviously referring to the _yogurt_. Not the girl. Trust me Chuck, I have my own scrumptious lady friends.

Another look.

_Friend_.

O.k., fine I got nothing! You happy!

Chuck walks away, chuckling. Chuckling Chuck.

* * *

John Casey is in the middle of watering his Bonsai Tree when he hears the all too familiar beep of his computer, letting him know the General is going to appear on his television in less than half a second. He quickly tosses his small watering can across the room, and gives the tree a small kiss before diving behind his arm chair.

Major Casey? Major Casey!

She disconnected the link a minute later. He let out a sigh of relief and went upstairs to get dressed. He didn't need to be reprimanded for only wearing his Ronald Reagan boxers... again.

* * *

Stephan Bartowski is hard a work watching Friends reruns through an illegal internet server. So what, the man has a guilty pleasure, don't we all? There's a knock at his door. In a quick panic he minimizes the window and pulls up incomplete blueprints for the Intersect 6.3. He can't let his enemies see his true weakness.

Thankfully, it was only the mailman. But still... wouldn't want the mailman to get the wrong idea. Papa Bartowski quits the blueprint screen and gets back to the lives of his favorite fictional characters. Being hidden away in an uncharted forest sometimes has its advantages.

* * *

Diane Beckman got a call from her secretary, Ralph. He is very reliable, even for a male secretary. He said that she had an unscheduled visitor, but visitor said he was CIA and appeared clean, other than for the obvious smell of alcohol. She patted down her nearly perfect bun and told Ralph to let the visitor in.

Hello, Diane.

Suddenly she felt like a shy school girl again, fresh out of the academy. She brushed away a long nonexistent auburn strand of hair from her face and felt the inevitable tug of a smile come to her lips.

Oh, Roan.

Diane.

She pressed her intercom button to give Ralph the heads up.

Ralph, please don't bother me for a few hours.

Yes...

Oooh, Rooaan.

Ma'am?

* * *

Sergei Tvestky walked out of the muffin shop on Euclid Street holding his favorite muffin. Cranberry Orange. Ever since he'd been a boy his mother had made Cranberry Orange muffins on every special occasion, but when she died of food poisoning when Sergei was eleven, his childhood had been severely skewed. Sergei became involved in the Russian mob, and now he is just another file in Chuck Bartowski's brain.

Recently, Sergei had become involved in some rather illegal shipment deals. The details are fairly vague, but its bad stuff, that's for sure.

He got into his car and started to head to shipyard. Suddenly, one of his back tires blew out, sending his car spinning on the abandoned dirt road. His muffin flew out the window. He cried out in shock and anger. No one messes with Sergei's cranberry orange muffins.

But before he had time to recover, he was being attacked. A figure dressed in black efficiently jabbed him twice in the gut, once in the head, and finished him off with a roundhouse kick to the lower jaw. He was out cold. Just like his muffin.

Morgan Grimes was on a delivery call, and happened to see what he presumed to be a mugging in progress. He jumped out of his U-Haul like Nerd Herder and rushed in to play hero. He quickly stopped when he saw the ninja remove her mask.

Anna?

Anna Wu quickly spun around to see Morgan Grimes, her ex-boyfriend, staring at her in shock... and awe.

Um...

You're a ninja?

Yeah... a ninja.

Why'd you mug that guy?

Um... he was trying to mug me?

Cool... do you, uh, want some help?

No! I mean um, no thanks. I feel really shaken up. I'm gonna get out of here.

Anna Wu had a delivery to stop, she wouldn't want to upset Beckman again by ruining a mission because of a relationship. That one time in Mexico totally hadn't been her fault anyway. That red-headed DEA agent had come on to _her. _She sprinted off in the direction of the docks before Morgan had time to wonder why she was dressed in all black, with a mask, in order to be mugged.

Morgan got back into his Nerd Herder and tried to remember if hallucinations were a side effect of over-dosing on grape soda. Maybe he wouldn't tell Chuck about this one. Grape soda intervention/rehab had been a scary place.

* * *

Sarah is sitting in Castle watching the Buy-More security feed. She is bored. She averts her attention from the screen to the desk in front of her. It's pretty dusty. Sarah immediately jumps to her feet and begins gathering all the loose change she can find. Some from her pocket, some of Casey's wallet. Why he left it unattended is a mystery. She finds some in the vending machine and almost a dollars worth in Chuck's pants. Why he left his pants unattended is another mystery.

She takes her collection of loose change and begins placing it all around Castle. Under desks, behind lamps, on top of shelves and beside computers.

When Chuck's shift is over he thumps down the stairs to Castle. It's been a long day, Morgan was going through grape soda withdrawals and kept blabbing about Anna. Jeffster had tried to hold band practice in the break room. Big Mike had to do work, and almost passed out... etc. All Chuck wanted to do was sit down and nap. Preferably while watching a movie with Sarah so he could use sleep as an excuse to cuddle closer to her.

Instead he saw Sarah Walker cleaning Castle. And the look on her face said something along the lines of:

Get your ass down here and help me.

Her mouth said something a little different.

Hey, Chuck! Guess what! I hid change all around Castle. I think it totals something like three bucks. I put it in super dusty places, so I bet if you dusted... you might become three dollars richer!

Um... what if I don't need three...

Come on Chuck! Three whole dollars, just for dusting!

Um... fine.

He could practically here the devil on his shoulder yelling 'whipped!' as he went to grab a dust rag.

Two hours later he only had 86 cents. Two hours and a pout later had had 86 cents and a kiss from Sarah. Dusting had never been more worth it.

* * *

It was supposed to be Morgan/Chuck game night. but Sarah had asked him if he wanted to do something for the cover... and his brain couldn't stop his mouth from saying yes. Chuck found himself running into this kind of problem a lot lately, so in order to prevent Morgan from crying himself to sleep that night, Chuck decided to combine the two events.

Currently, it was Sarah's turn. They were sitting around playing a mindless first-person shooter. First Morgan and Chuck had decked it out over a vast landscape with multiple weapons. Chuck had easily beaten Morgan. Sarah had given Chuck a look when she noticed that he was flashing to learn complicated, foolproof, tactical maneuvers. Afterward, they decided that Sarah should start her own single-player campaign.

At first, while Sarah played, the two life-partners chatted amiably and considered ordering a pizza.

Then Sarah was on the fifth level and the room had been silent for half an hour. Chuck and Morgan mouths open in shock. She was _good_.

Another hour later Sarah was pushing through the final level. Baddies were rushing her in every direction and she was mowing them down effectively with her machine gun, giggling. The level over, she threw up her arms and leaned back on the couch. She didn't know what to do. The screen showed a lot of numbers and kept flashing medals and trophies. Morgan let out a soft groan.

Not... worthy...

Wow, guys, that was fun! That last level got kinda tricky near the end... but it was great! I totally get why you do this like... all the time.

Still no response. Sarah Walker was fairly used to leaving men speechless, so she stood up and brushed her knees, just for something to do. Chuck, suddenly aware of her movement, jumped to his feet, knocking over a table lamp on the way.

SARAH!

Uh... yes, Chuck?

With no other way to express himself, her forcefully pulled her face towards his and crashed his lips upon hers. Sarah immediately responded. Her hands found the back of head and she pulled him even closer, his hands moved from her face down to her waist, bringing her body into closer contact with his own. She moaned into his mouth and he shuddered with pleasure.

Suddenly, he pulled away. Chuck had remembered that his bearded friend was in the room, and didn't want to give him a live porn show.

Morgan?

The little man was still fixated on the screen, his jaw on the floor. Chuck shrugged his shoulders and dragged Sarah to his bedroom.

* * *

Skip woke up in a panic. It was 10:40. He was supposed to start his shift at the Buy-More at 10:30. He'd hit the snooze button ten times. The sunlight peeking through his window burned his eyes, the blaring alarm made his head pound. He was hung-over. Spending a weeknight with Jeff and Lester had definitely not been a good idea. He quickly ran into the bathroom, pulling on his Nerd Herd pants, shirt, and tie on the way. He looked in the mirror. He searched for his hairbrush.

His amazing Skip 'fro was flat. He needed his hairbrush to fix it, he couldn't go into work (late) without his signature look! But for some odd reason, his hairbrush could no be found.

Oh, where is my hairbrush?

It wasn't in his drawer, it wasn't on the counter. He hadn't thrown it away, and it wasn't in the shower!

He ran back to his bed and began to search through the sheets.

Where is my hairbrush?

He threw aside piles of clothes, and looked underneath the bed. He gave up on his own home, and went to his neighbors instead.

Oh where, oh where, oh where, not there! Oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh _where_, is my hairbrush!

He knocked on the door of Mr. Flenderson, his nearly blind neighbor.

Have you seen my hairbrush?

I think I saw a hairbrush over there!

Despite Mr. Flenderson being blind, Skip trusted the old man's instincts and ran off in the direction of the man's knobby old finger. It led him to the door of Maria. The woman who happened to do his house cleaning.

Maria! Have you seen my hairbrush!

Oh, Mr. Skip. I gave your hairbrush to Enrico, my son. You see Mr. Skip, you don't have any hair, and my Enrico is so poor and hairy that I did what I had to. Do you understand? I'm so sorry Mr. Skip.

_Are you kidding me?_

Skip patted his head, yes, his lame not fro like fro was still there. He had hair! Skip walked home with shame.

NOT FAIR! My poor hairbrush. Not fair, my only hairbrush! No hair? Not fair! No hair? Not fair! Oh where oh where oh where oh where oh where, is my hairbrush!

Skip called in sick and didn't go to work.

* * *

And then the brave princess slew the dragon, rescuing her dashing prince, and they lived happily ever after! The end!

Mommy, you tell the bestest stories. Waaay better than Daddy. He always says stories about robots and other weird stuff.

A scoff can be heard from the hallway. Sarah chuckles.

Only for my bestest girl. Now you get some sleep, missy.

Kay Momma.

Night baby.

Sarah Bartowski placed a kiss on her daughter's forehead, and walked out of the room. Her husband, watching the scene from the door frame took her hand and together they walked back to the living room.

Hey, Sarah?

Mhm, yeah Chuck?

I love you.

Love you, too.

* * *

**A/N: Alright. A couple ideas in this fic were not entirely my own, so now I'm going to say that here now blah blah blah. There were references from Ed (waffles), a tv show from the beginning of the century (ahahahhah), my childhood (the dusting clippit) and Veggie Tales (skip's unfortunate hairbrush). If you haven't heard of any of these... cool. I wouldn't suggest researching my childhood, but the rest you should check out. **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Guess what. This is the longest one yet, and it isn't done! That's right, this chapter is somewhat of a companion piece to something that was mentioned in chapter eight about Sarah being presumed dead. I've got it planned out. The finale of this mini series will be in the last chapter, the chorus (Which in case you haven't noticed, has not been included. Yet). Also, I think I might do this kind of style story with a couple other songs. But that's in some kind of planning stage. Keep your eyes out. This one is almost done.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or West Coast.

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**

Pack up your bags and beat back the clock.

At first she thought the loud noise was her alarm, rudely awaking her from her much needed slumber. After pounding on the poor clock for a good minute or so, she realized that the sound was more of a buzz than a beep, and the buzz had turned from buzzing to knocking to pounding. Someone was at her door.

Despite her extreme lack of sleep, Ada Wish leapt from her creaky bed and starting throwing items around her one-room apartment. She cursed herself for being so unprepared. She flung some necessary clothes into her suitcase, grabbed her toiletries... forgetting her toothbrush... and stuffed her Smith & Wesson under her shirt before fleeing down the fire escape.

The small suitcase in one hand and her gun not far from the other, Ada quickly walked by the men, who were now attempting to break down the door. They were too busy to look at her, and even if they had, they would have had a hard time recognizing her.

They were looking for a beautiful, blonde, CIA Goddess. Ada Wish had brown mousy hair and had such bad posture, it look as if she were a couple inches shorter than her actual height. Large, unassuming glasses hid the most of her face and an ugly old hat hid what they couldn't. Sarah Bartowski had been on the run for three months now.

It started with what was supposed to have been a week long operation in Turkey. She was supposed to get close with the American ambassador and stop him from sending a shipment of bad somethings to fuel a civil war in somewhere. It quickly escalating to a plot involving other ambassadors from other countries all forming a group to start this civil war off in somewhere, mostly for their own monetary gain. But by the time she had learned this, she was already chained to a pole in an abandoned basement in Poland.

So she escaped using a playful wink and a sharp knife, and they've been after her ever since. And by 'they' we're referring to almost every buyable thug in Western Europe. She hasn't seen her family in five months. She lost contact with her bosses quickly after the mission started. She is constantly pushing the thought of failure, of death, out of her mind. It's hard. She can't see a way out.

She slows her walk, she figures she is far away enough from her apartment that the men won't suspect her. She looks for a gas station, a crowded bar, a place where people won't notice if she goes in the bathroom and comes out a different person. She'd only been Ada Wish for a week, and they had already found her so quickly. She knew her identities were dissolving, that they were closing in on her day after day...

She sees a man walk away from a pay phone. He paid, but didn't dial. She loses her train of thought.

Sarah doesn't have any money. For room and food she'd been using fake credit cards and stealing from people that could afford it. But a phone call on a phone that couldn't trace back to her? Next to impossible. She made a mad dash for the phone booth, slamming the door shut behind her.

Inside the booth her agent-trained claustrophobia kicked in. In the booth anyone could see her, and she was a sitting duck. She shook the thoughts from her mind, a call had to be made, but to who?

She wouldn't have enough money to connect all the way to Langley, and her European contact liked to change his number every other day. She could try Beckman, Casey, Carina... but they wouldn't be able to help her. She wouldn't have enough time to explain.

She dialed.

It picked up on the second ring.

Hello?

Sarah let out a whimper of joy, of unbelieving delight. She hadn't expected it work, had expected that of all her luck she would get voicemail or... something.

Emma, baby, it's your Mommy.

Momma?

Yeah, sweetie, I miss you so much!

Tears were falling down her face now, her heart was beating erratically. She was in danger, her daughter's voice was so sweet. Pure.

Momma, when are you coming home? Daddy misses you. He says your gone now. He says that if you listen real close that you can hear angels, but I didn't think angels called on the phone. This is kinda weird.

She chokes back a sob. Of course they think she's dead. It explains why Chuck doesn't send as many letters to her postal box in Hungary. He thinks she's dead. Gone.

Em is your Daddy there? I'm not gone honey, I'm gonna come home to you. I promise.

Daddy's helping Annie do her homework. I'll get him, kay Momma?

Emily! I love you!

I love you too, Momma.

A foreign voice warns Sarah that she has a few seconds to insert more change. No. Not now. Not yet!

No, no! Emily! Em, tell your Dad I'm alive! Please! Emily? Emily!

The dial tone rings her in ears, so she drops the phone. Sarah's beaten body slides down the side of the booth, tears threatening to overflow.

They think she's dead. _Dead_. She promised she'd come home to her little girls, to her husband. She shouldn't, she can't afford to, but she sits slumped in that phone booth and cries. Cries for the life she left behind for no reason. She's completely surrounded by people that want to _kill_ her. Her loved ones are so far away.

So Sarah Bartowski pulls herself up, using her arms to support and weak body against the panes of the booth. She takes deep breaths, trying to calm herself. In the outside world it's raining.

She steps out.

This life, the life of Ada Wish and Amanda Brown and Renee Walters and all her other aliases, it isn't hers. She's spent her years trying to figure out who she is. Her real name. Sarah Bartowski is the only woman she wants to be. Everyone else, they can go back to the CIA. She wants to go home. She wants to see her little girls grow, she wants to hold her husband close. She wants more kids, she wants a bigger house. She wants a dog and she wants to drive a Porshe with the top down. She wants to kill everyone that is holding her back.

She runs back to her apartment, figuring she's given the thugs enough time to trash the place. The door is off it's hinges, nothing is in one piece. But it doesn't matter. Everything important is in the back pocket of her jeans.

She goes to the small bathroom and turns on the shower. In the mirror she tries to recognize herself, and fails. A fact she had once been proud of. She growls at the image, she can't help it. She takes her wedding band from that back pocket in her jeans and easily slides it onto her finger.

Sarah Bartowski is done running.

She washes her hair until it's back to it's original blonde color. It isn't perfect, but with time it will come. She loses the glasses and the frumpy hat. She removes the colored contact lenses. This time, she smirks at herself in the mirror. Why had she wanted to hide this? Sarah Bartowski, CIA certified bad-ass, doesn't hide from anyone.

There's a knock on the frame of her door.

Uh, Miz Wish? Miz Wish?

She steps confidently from the bathroom. The man is holding a gun. He's wearing all black and sports a uni-brow. Thugish. Before he can get in another word, she raises her Smith & Wesson and puts a bullet in the middle of his forehead with an annoyed scowl on her face.

I'm sorry, but Miss Wish doesn't live here anymore.

* * *

See, Annie, addition isn't _that_ hard.

Yeah, but Dad, it's still homework!

Charles Bartowski chuckles at his daughter. She's only in first grade and already hates the idea of homework. It's going to be a long twelve years.

Go on and get ready for bed. Then you can play for another hour.

Kay Daddy!

Chuck sits on the couch, watching his daughter play. She's so so much like her mother that it breaks his heart. Both his girls are replicas of the blonde, beautiful, Sarah Walker. He likes to think that he will always miss her, but his daughters will be able to fill the void she's left in his life. Sometimes he's right. Most of the time he's wrong. They're wonderful, and he loves them, but they can't cover the Sarah shaped hole in his heart. They have their own compartment. The ache in his chest for the past three months may never go away.

The phone rings, but he hears Emily answer it. The youngest tends to think she runs the house, but it's o.k. because Chuck let's her.

He lets out a sigh and starts to tune into some children's show that Annie is watching. He's picturing Sarah snuggled next to him when Emily runs in with the phone.

Daddy Daddy, Mommy wants to talk to you!

He doesn't really think about it. Suddenly it's five months ago and she's calling to say she'll be late because the briefing ran long or Ellie wanted her to stop by. Oh, Mommy's calling, is she? Suddenly the phone became the entirety of his existence.

Sarah!

His voice is pleading, his voice is broken.

But the dial tone is steady.

And suddenly it's _now_, not five months ago. And suddenly she _isn't_ calling because she. isn't. there. She's dead. She's dead. And suddenly his world is falling apart again, just as it did before. Suddenly he's a single Dad with two perfect little girls that want their Mommy. Suddenly he's a husband without a wife. Suddenly he's so so tired of missing her. So so tired of having to do this on his own.

He chokes back a sob and hugs his daughter close. She didn't mean to mislead him, he knows.

Daddy, don't you want to talk to her? She say's she's coming home.

He's crying into his daughter's shoulder. She shouldn't have to deal with this, he thinks.

Daddy? Daddy? Mommy's coming home! Kay Daddy? You don't have to cry anymore. You don't have to cry!

Later that night Chuck reasons that Emily confused the operator's voice for Sarah's. Later that night Chuck dreams that his wife is laying in that empty space next to him, whispering that she loves him. That she'll never leave him.

Later that night, a fairly large group of corrupt ambassadors meet to discuss the sudden appearance of Sarah Bartowski near the Austrian border.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Fun fact: This was the first chapter I wrote. It was written more than a month ago. So it's kinda short and not too depressing... it just kinda happens, you know? I wrote this and then thought: Well, how am I going to explain that only this one line from the song inspires the story? So I wrote ten others. All leading up to this. Really, all this means is a super quick update. Nothing too special.**

**Disclaimer: Chuck belongs to NBC. West Coast belongs to some record company that is not me.

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**

Should I let her sleep? Or should I wake her up?

The alarm went off a little later than he set it, he thinks. His flight leaves in an hour, and he is twenty minutes away from the airport. The traffic is thick, but that isn't all that unusual. His mind is really on his luggage. He packed some last minute essentials in the five minutes he had to get ready, but were they enough? Did he remember the toothpaste? Dear God, please let me have remembered the toothpaste.

A lane opens up... a lot more along the lines of sooner rather than later. Every other car on the freeway gets in it. Chuck remains in his lane. Slowly, safely. What a leader... or non-follower. You're not a leader just because you refuse to follow the other leader. So he's still stuck in traffic and his mind floats from luggage essentials to Korean delicacies. A flash on a North Korean government official a week ago had brought some interesting questions to Chuck's mind. They don't really eat dogs over there, do they?

So as the other lane moves steadily forward Chuck ponders pets. He's always seen himself as a dog person. He would love a little puppy, a little guy that he could nurture and teach and feed and bathe and scold. His apartment complex disallowed them. Ellie would have loved a dog growing up, back when Dad was still around. He let out a sigh. Where is Dad? Ellie's wedding is soon. But when it was just the two of them, it would have been too much responsibility. Devon... He deserves an awesome pet. Maybe not a dog, something cleaner. But awesome. A piranha, perhaps. Oh, oops, sorry. Stop honking! I get it, I'ma movin! Piranha's probably aren't allowed either.

Casey, now there's a guy who would love a dog. A big tough dog, maybe a Rottweiler or... something equally large and ferocious. Hate this song, change the station. But also with a warm and cuddly center, just like Papa Bear himself. Maybe Beckman could get a tiny hairless dog. One that would sit proudly on her desk during their video conferences. She would name it something short, obvious, and overwhelmingly cliche. Like Fido. Or Uncle Sam.

Sarah would have a beautiful golden retriever. She would be a dog person too. Traffic seems to loosen up a bit after some major industrial park exit. It would be playful, and she would give it scraps off the table and take it on her runs. No dogs in hotels. Sarah. He left Sarah at her hotel, all by herself. Not that she feels left, necessarily. But he should have called. Told her that he was going out of town for a bit. Of course she'll learn from Beckman in some kind of meeting this morning, maybe even before his flight leaves... but maybe he should have called.

But why? Why should he have called? It's not like he called Casey and told him he was leaving. Well... he told him, face to face. And Casey already seemed to know... the guy knew everything. Should have known he would be keeping tabs on the computer.

Here's the exit, navigate your way though long term parking. Get on a shuttle, arrive at the airport. Worry about clearing security, wonder if they really care about what's in your carry-on. Keep track of your boarding pass, find your gate, find a bathroom. Race back to the gate, hear final boarding call. Board the flight, smile at the flight attendant. Buckle up.

You know, it was polite, not to wake her up. She needs her sleep after everything we've been through the past couple of weeks. He knows he's tired. A six a.m. call to say goodbye? Why not make it at twelve to say I miss you? Or, well... just sorry I didn't say goodbye. It may be her job to worry... but it was the right thing. He'll be back in just a few days. She won't even notice. Maybe he won't even notice. Take off.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: This chapter is long, for me. And it's depressing like you would not believe. Really, the tone of my stories are heavily dependent on what music I'm listening to, and guess what, most music is really sad. Fun fact, the song this story is based on really isn't all that sad. It's kinda matter of fact-ish, so go figure. I hope you can work out how the title relates in this one. Three more chapters to go!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, or the West Coast.

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You said we'd both go together if one fell down. Yeah right.

Chuck and Sarah met because they're spies. Her career, his destiny. They fell in love because he's Chuck and, well... she's Sarah. They couldn't be together because she had to protect him, and loving the person you protect is... dangerous. They could be together because he saved her, and she was so so tired of denying herself of him.

So they dated for awhile. She went on missions and he quit the CIA. He lied to her about his hobbies (Mommy-Hunting, mostly) and they broke up. They got back together and he became an Uncle and they broke up fighting over their future together. He wanted kids, she wasn't sure. They got back together and she quit the CIA. They married.

And now they're here at the hospital, the one where Devon and Ellie work. She's in the bed and he's at her side. Tomorrow is their fourth wedding anniversary, earlier today they'd been redecorating the house.

* * *

Sarah is painting the wall a light green. Chuck had joked that it was an odd color choice for this bedroom, Sarah said that it could be changed later. They laughed. Chuck was carrying heavy boxes into the room.

Chuck, do you need any help?

You shouldn't be doing any heavy lifting Mrs. Bartowski! Doctor's orders.

I was in the CIA for a couple years you know, I'm sure I could handle it.

He puts down the box in the hallway and caresses his wife, his hands on her hips, his smile for her eyes.

I know you could handle it, but your little side-kick here has very little field experience, and I wouldn't want her to jeopardize this mission.

Sarah nods her head in agreement, and rests her forehead against Chuck's. They both look affectionately at her protruding stomach. He smiles his big smile and she can't help but return it. He looks around the room and feels an overwhelming sense of content.

You know, I think your right. This green will be her favorite color.

Yeah? What made you change your mind?

Ellie told me that no matter what I think, you're always gonna be right. She'll love it because she's your daughter. Pink will be much too traditional for her anyway.

She smiles and kisses him. He's perfect. He goes back to carrying the crib into the room, and she feels a small twinge in her abdomen. Her little girl is happy.

* * *

That afternoon she feels that twinge again, again, again, again. And then they're at the hospital. Doctors are talking with her, with Chuck. Ellie runs into the room, she's crying. Devon makes his way in, still in his surgical scrubs. He hugs his wife, he hugs Chuck, he gives Sarah a sad look, but she's staring at the ceiling. She can't face them right now. The Awesomes leave eventually. Chuck stays by her side.

His rough fingertips traced the design on her hospital gown unconsciously. She looked straight on to the ceiling, ignoring him. All he wanted was her. Her to look at him, to give him some sign that she was... coping. All she wanted was her baby. And her little girl didn't even have a name. She didn't even have a name.

Hours pass, Sarah finds herself wishing it has been days. She wants to be rid of this moment, gone of this memory. _Healed_ of this scar. She wants to feel nothing. She wants this day to be unremarkable, to have to reason to look back on it.

Instead she feels Chuck's warm tears upon her gown and hears him mutter in his sleep. She feels his head cutting off the circulation in her arm. She feels empty. There's no longer another soul relying on her for life. She and Chuck... Chuck and her... They failed. They tried, they've tried so many times, to prove their love, to show their love, and the one example, the one product, the entirety, the culmination of everything they felt, feel, for one another, died.

She falls asleep.

It's months later, almost a year. Chuck wakes up to an empty bed, but smells coffee brewing downstairs. He slowly lumbers down the hall, passing her door on the way. The room has been unopened since the day it was decorated.

Morning.

He kisses her cheek, she allows it.

Morning Chuck.

She hands him his mug. He accepts it. They sit across the table from each other, a palpable silence holding them back from what they so desperately want to say. Are you okay, I miss her so much, we still have each other, I love you. I love you.

She looks at him and sees the tired bags under his eyes, his curly hair, untamed. His pajama pants hang loose on his thinning body. His chest glows in the morning light. Her heart aches for him, she wants him to love her again. She wants be lovable instead of this empty, worthless, wife. All she has to be thankful for is that she can bear the pain, that he can be free of the sorrow. All she dreams of is a world where the pain isn't necessary.

Chuck glances at Sarah, his heart cries. When he sees her, he can only picture their daughter, their beautiful baby girl. He wants to know what he did wrong, how he could have saved her. Saved both of them. He's falling apart, and she's the only one holding together. Sarah is still Sarah. She was broken by the death of her child, their child, just as any mother would be, but she seems okay. She's strong, she's come to terms with it. She seems okay. Okay.

Chuck wishes that he and Sarah were on the same page. That after... it.. happened they had talked about it, that she's been able to walk him through what she was feeling. He wants to know how he could have been, can be, better for her. But she seems fine. She doesn't need him anymore.

It's years later and she's in Wisconsin, driving past a town that she'd conned out of half a million many years ago. An hour later she stops at a diner. The waitress's name is Chloe. Her little girl didn't have a name. She orders a pie.

Chuck is in Burbank, living with his NSA handler. He's preparing to go over to the Awesome's for dinner. Or at least he is in theory. He loves his family, he really does. They've helped him though too many tough times to count... but they're so happy. They have two beautiful children, successful careers. They have each other. His wife, she took off. She said she had something to take care of, and he trusts her, but she's been gone. It's been a week, he needs her. He accepts it as further proof that she doesn't need him.

She finally stops at some small town few people have heard of. She personally hadn't until she did some major Google searching two weeks ago. Her mother is buried here.

She finds the cemetery and makes her way to the grave. Her steps are slow and purposeful. She feels as if she's being judged. As she approaches the headstone, her knees become weak, her vision blurred. She has to do this. This.. this is.. no mother. No daughter. Sarah Bartowski has no one. Except, well, Chuck. But he doesn't understand, he couldn't understand. He's fine.

She kneels in front of the grave and silently begins to beg for understanding. For guidance.

Mom. Mom, God, you know all I ever wanted was to love someone? I wanted... I wanted to _love_ you! But Daddy.. Daddy said you couldn't love me. That love made you weak. I wanted to love lots of people, but I don't really want to sort through all them. I'm so...

She's choking on her words. The tears hindering her ability to speak coherently. The back of her mind reminds her that it won't matter.

I'm so sorry I haven't been to see you. I promise I'll come more often! I will love you, Mom. My baby.. oh God. Mom my baby she died. She died and she'll never love me... I can't... I can't know her! Can... Can I still love her? Cause I do, I love her so much that every day it hurts! It hurts so much... And Chuck. I love him too. He's so great, you'd love him. Everyone does. He's so smart and funny and _good_. He's just so good. He would have been the best father, he was so determined to do better then both of our dads. And I ruined it for him. I couldn't... I couldn't even give our little girl a name. A _name_. I couldn't do it... my baby. No one knows her but me because she doesn't have a name. Just a... name.

She's only sniffling now, letting the cloudy day and the soft grass envelope her. She sits there for an hour more, letting the silence finally _speak_. So she listens.

Dinner is over and Ellie insisted that Chuck relax, she and Devon will do the dishes. So he sits in the living room, watching one of the boys play video games.

You know, I used to kick... butt at that game.

Come on Uncle Chuck, why don't you play?

Well, I don't know. I haven't in a while. Guess I just haven't felt up to it.

Uncle Chuck, how can you _not_ feel up to killing zombies?

Chuck thought about it, and the kid's logic seemed pretty solid, but for some reason, he just didn't feel like killing anymore. Zombies that is.

I don't know little guy. I guess I've killed too many in my lifetime.

He receives a quizzical look in return. His nephew pauses the game and sits on the couch beside Chuck.

First of all Uncle Chuck, I'm not little. I'm six. And B: You can never kill to many zombies. So you're gonna tell me what is wrong with you right now!

Well, he was definitely Ellie's kid. Always trying to get inside the mind of the one and only Chuck Bartowski.

Well... I guess I wish your Aunt Sarah was home.

Yeah... What else?

Seriously? Well... oh what the hell. I wish I had a kid as awesome as you. Maybe two or three kids as awesome as you.

Well, I know I'm awesome Uncle Chuck, but Mommy told me that kids come from babies, and babies come when a Mommy and a Daddy love each other so much that they have extra love, and that love starts growing into a baby. So I can solve your problem. When Aunt Sarah comes home, you just need to say I love you to her lots and then poof! Your problem is solved. Can we kill zombies now?

Chuck laughs and ruffles the boys hair.

Yeah, okay buddy. But lemme warn ya, I'm a little out of practice!

And now it's the next day. Today. Sarah drove all night just to get back home. She pulls in the driveway right before Chuck's alarm is due to go off, so she makes coffee.

He wakes up as the alarm rings in his ears, he hits the clock and lumbers down the hallway. His nose registers the smell of coffee, but his mind isn't awake enough to make the connection. As he walks by the door he stops. By some unknown movement he finds his hand resting on the door. He takes a deep breath.

_I love you._

He walks downstairs. He sees Sarah sitting at the table by herself drinking her coffee, a mug is sitting in his spot, waiting for him.

As soon as Chuck enters the kitchen, Sarah bolts up. It was more of an automatic response than anything else. She opens her mouth to speak, but says nothing. He wraps her in his embrace. His lips move softly over her neck.

I missed you.

She pulls him tighter to herself because she missed him too. He smells like their warm cotton sheets and yesterday's after-shave. His rough stubble grazes against her cheek and all she feels is home. She needs to talk to him, he missed her. She's missed him. She's missed this.

Sarah, I love you.

His voice is hoarse and he's barely awake, but it's perfect. It's perfect. She is lovable. She loves him.

Oh, Chuck.

Still holding her, he pulls his head back to look her in the eyes. Does she love him? Is that all it will take? Can he fix this?

I love you too.

Her eyes are shining, but he doesn't think they're tears. Maybe she's happy. And then he realizes he hasn't seen her happy in a very long time. He realizes he hasn't been alone.

As they drink their coffee he continues to realize. He realizes that they've both been alone in a different way. They let this tragedy come between them, cutting them off from each other. He realizes that he assumed she was okay, but he never asked. He realizes that he wants nothing more than to hold Sarah in his arms again. And again and again and again.

Sarah notices that Chuck is deep in thought, and she really doesn't want to interrupt, but she has to tell him. It will change everything, she thinks.

Chuck?

So used to the heavy silence, Chuck is shocked to hear her voice. He looks up expectantly.

I uh... I'm sorry I left.

It's okay, you came back.

Yes, but... I shouldn't have done that. I just needed to talk to someone about... everything.

He knew how she felt. What she meant. Everything was a lot to talk about. He wishes she done it with him.

I went to see my Mom. She's... she's buried in Wisconsin. I wanted to feel... loved, I guess. But it made me realize that the baby, everything, it didn't mean you would love me any less. And I learned that I could still love her even though she... even though she isn't here.

Chuck stared into her eyes, trying to wrap his mind around all his realizations, around what his nephew had said last night.

I do love you Sarah. I'll never stop.

She smiles at him. She reaches down and pulls a piece of paper out of her purse. She pushes it in front of him.

What's...

Chuck wonders if he's hallucinating. It would make more sense if it was a dream. The talking, the sharing, and now this. He's staring at an off-white piece of paper with the words birth certificate written in a fancy script across the top.

Before, I tried to separate myself by not accepting what happened, and I know you let it slide to please me... but her name has been the worst part of it this whole time..

Yeah...

He can't believe it... even after all these years. His little girl has a name, she was real, she existed.

So, is it okay?

It's perfect. You're perfect. I love you, I love her. I love our family, and I've wanted her in it for so long... Sarah... God, I just love you so much! Please, please don't ever forget that.

He leaves the paper on the table and is holding his wife again, his lips find hers and their sweet embrace turns into a passionate kiss. Her hands find his curls and his body pushes her into the table. All they know is that they have each other, and if one falls so does the other. Maybe that isn't so bad.

* * *

Their ten year anniversary is tomorrow. Today is one they aren't spending at the hospital where Ellie and Devon work. Instead they're at the cemetery to visit their little girl. They walk side by side, but another figure bridges the gap between their hands.

Momma, where are we again?

Shh, baby, we're going to visit your sister.

Oh, so this is the graveyard?

Cemetery Em, not a graveyard.

Chuck looks at his daughter, tenderly wading through the leafy path. She'll be three next month, and she's growing bigger everyday. Her golden hair is a duplicate of her mother's, but Sarah insists that Emily's personality is all Chuck's. He loves her.

They've brought Emily to visit her sister every year since she was born. It's important to know your family, no matter where they are.

The family arrives at the plot, and Emily looks up at her parents. They're always so sad when they visit the cemetery, she thinks. But she loves to visit her big sister. Mommy always says that Emily can tell her anything she wants 'cause she's always listening.

Momma, Daddy, can I talk to Anna first?

Go ahead Emily.

Chuck grabs Sarah's hand as Emily runs toward the plot. He kisses the side of her head and she leans into him. She looks up at her husband and whispers:

I love you.

He looks down at his wife, and over at his two little girls.

I love you too.

The wind rustles the leaves and the sounds of Emily's voice carries over to the content couple. A few leaves scatter as they float to the Earth. Chuck and Sarah stand together and watch as the fall weather changes the world around them.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: School is ****crazy.**** I haven't been able to work on this story for a while, and well... this is a weird chapter. On a brighter note, tomorrow is the season four premiere, and it looks very promising =) When I'm not doing homework, I'm rewatching all my seasons of Chuck. This title of this chapter was slightly edited in my mind to be more like 'I sing out loud like you're still awake.' Or something. One more after this!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, West Coast, or the multiple Lady Gaga songs referenced in this chapter.**

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I talk out loud like you're still around.

Less that twenty-four hours ago, Chuck had been an apparently sane man. Then he agreed to hang out with Devon and his frat bros. Awesome. So, bro. What do you think? Skydiving or white-water rafting down waterfalls?

So Chuck is flying through the air at a speed he really isn't all that comfortable with, in a direction that is mostly completely terrifying. His head is ringing with this awfully annoying screeching noise and well, as previously mentioned, the ground is coming up way too fast.

And then Devon rockets by him, his body at an extreme angle. Chuck swears he hears an awesome bro! over the noise in his head. Then a frat bro, Frank maybe, flies by. Laughing. Chuck realizes that the screeching noise is actually coming from his mouth, not his brain, and that the screeching noise is more like a girlish screaming noise. He can practically hear Casey telling him to man up.

And then Casey flies by, shouting something that sounds like Man Up Bartowski!

Oh, screw it. None of these guys got what he has at the end of the day. He pulls his chute.

After an excruciating second of stoppy jerky pully, Chuck evens out and floats down to Earth. His full out panic meter is safely down to the high end of yellow. The guys below him start pulling their chutes too, and soon enough everyone is on the ground. Except Chuck.

Not sure he's ready for more humiliation, Chuck closes his eyes, in order to prevent himself from screaming. He can hear the guys cheering him... and in some cases jeering at him. Suddenly, the ground is making contact with his feet, his knees go weak, and he's a pile of flesh and bones laying underneath a ridiculous looking parachute. Sometimes he wishes the intersect would react a little faster. Could have used a flash right about then.

There's a lot of dude!'s and bro!'s and awesome!'s, and then Chuck is helped out of the parachute. Casey growls. Chuck thinks it might be a new one, #682: You'd think a trained CIA agent could parachute from a plane. But it's quickly followed by #8.3: (amused) Idiot. Which is always better that #8.2: (angry) Idiot, but it really doesn't help Chuck's self-confidence. Then he remembers what Sarah promised him when he gets home, and he feels a little better.

Dude, bro-in-law, we're gonna head down to that bar we passed on the way to the plane! You up for some drinks?

Um, sure?

He really isn't, but his mind is still stuck in the parking lot four hours ago, locked in the trunk of Casey's Crown Vic. The NSA Colonel grunts a no, and then leaves. Chuck is left with a bunch of crazy frat guys and Captain Awesome. Wasn't it Casey's job to protect him?

* * *

#1

Dude, I can't believe that way you screamed!

Yeah, I thought for a second that Devon had brought Ellie along or something!

Ahaha, yeah, bro!

#2

So... speaking of Ellie... hows things on the homefront big guy?

Well... let's just say that its awesome!

Yeah man? Never thought you'd settle down. Remember back in college...

Uh huh. Oh yeah. Awesome.

Wait? What? What happened in college? Does my sister know about this?

#3

Chill out, bro. It was nothing.

Dude, Devon, are you kidding me? Remember Taylor _and_ Rebecca?

Ahh... yes. But times have changed now, guys. I'm sticking to the one and only girl in my life.

Whatever, bro. Dude, Chuck. What about you? Any girls in your life.

Ummm... well.

Come on, don't be modest Chuck. He's got a girlfriend. She's smokin!

#8

And then I was like... excuse me, that's my handkerchief!

Ahaha, bro, you're killin' me? Handkerchief? Classic!

#12

Remember that red-headed chick, Carina?

Ohhhh yeah. She joined Sarah in my dreams for a couple months after she rolled into town. To bad she had to go on another mish. You know? But I'd never get involved, you know, cause of Sarah.

Yeah she was... wait, what? Dude, is she a... _SPY_... too?

#13

Well, yeah. I'm kinda like James Bond...

Devon, you didn't tell us your bro-in-law was so bad-ass. He toad-ly had us fooled like.. fooled. He was so... screamy during the parachuting.

Bartowski. Chuck Bartowski. I'm Chuck Bartowski.

Can I be a spy?

Yeah! Come on! I'll call the General! She'll make you guys all spies like me!

#15.5

Yusss Genural. Yes ma'am. I'd like to make... Hey! How many of us are there?

Umm... I dunnknow. Like... seven-eleven?

Okay. Genural I'd like seven-eleven honorary members of the NSA. Please. No ma'am, this is a very serious madder. They're like my bro's, Genural! No, wait! No, don hang...

Well, Chuck?

It's a no guys. She thinks I'm... hic... drunk.

Ridiculous, bro, we've only had like two or three each.

Well, Dev, I don't know about you, but I think I had four, and Greg had seven-twelve. I knew Chuck wasn' a spy! Liar!

Oh... damn. Guess we better go home or something. Seven-twelve drinks is a lot.

I am too a spy!

Oh... well, lemme finish my drink first!

Yeah, my girlfriend will get worried...

Can I order one more before we go?

* * *

Sarah was finishing up the night's dishes, Morgan had cooked so she offered to clean, when Casey barreled through the front door, Chuck over his shoulder.

Oh my gosh, Casey! What happened? Is he okay? I knew that sky-diving was a bad idea...

Keep your shirt on Walker, he's just wasted. He went out with Devon afterwards and had something like seven-fourteen drinks, from what I've heard.

Seven-fourteen?

Casey grunted before walking away. Sarah looked down at her boyfriend and pushed a lone curl off his face. She bent down to kiss his forehead, and thought better of it when she smelled the alcohol. He really _was_ wasted. His eyelids fluttered for a second and he slurred her name. Well, at least he has his priorities straight, even when he's drunk.

Sarah smiled to herself before returning to the dishes. They were kind of cathartic, after all. Chuck continued to mumble and Sarah took her time, knowing that soon Chuck was going to want to throw up the mess in his stomach, and she would have to guide him to the bathroom. But he was taking longer to get to that point than she expected. She grabbed her iPod.

As she moved from dishes to giving the kitchen a full scrub-down, she started to hum. And then the humming turned to soft singing... and moved on from there.

_Just Dance! Gonna be O.K., nothing to do so just dance! Let the record play!_

_I'm your biggest fan I'll follow you where ever. I'll be Papa-Paparazzi!_

And as most singing does, it turned into out-of tune belting. Sarah felt that most Lady Gaga songs described how she felt about Chuck, and she'd always somewhat wished she could tell him, so maybe singing to him while he's drunk would get the point across? Who knows. Sometimes you just gotta sing... if that's what you would call the noise she was making.

_I want your love and I want your revenge_

_I want your love, I don't wanna be friends!_

Now, of course, Sarah thought Chuck was sleeping. Or passed out. Chuck was actually too drunk to keep his eyelids open, but he was conscious, and the noise she was making was aggravating his pre-hung-over brain. He tried to tell her to stop, but the only noise coming out of his mouth was an obscure moan that Sarah couldn't hear over her singing, iPod, and vacuum.

_J'ai ton amour et je veux ton revenge_

_J'ai ton amour, I don't wanna be friends!_

The French triggered a flash in the intersect, suddenly Chuck's alcohol infused brian knew the secrets of the French language, and it wasn't happy. In an uncontrolled spasm, Chuck fell off the couch and started to convulse, muttering phrases in French.

This attracted Sarah's attention. She dropped the vacuum and stopped singing.

Chuck? Chuck! Are you okay? Chuck?

La tortue sera là pour le dîner!

Chuck? Come on wake up!

Bien sûr, je veux que mes pieds ciré!

Unable to understand his mutterings, Sarah lifted Chuck to his feet and dragged him off to their bedroom. He needed to rest, especially since they had a conference with Beckman in the morning. Unfortunately, Sarah couldn't leave the kitchen in a half-clean state. It was either all or none, so she put her earphones back in, and turned on the vacuum. This time, she opted for something a little more relaxing.

_For a second there I thought you disappeared_

_It rains a lot this time of year..._

_

* * *

_

**A/N: Okay... Chuck learned his french from Google translator, and it goes like this: The turtle will be here for dinner. And: Of course I want my foot waxed! Adios. Review!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I think if you took everything you've read so far and threw it into one chapter, this would be it. This is follows the story in Chapter Ten, so I hope you read that... if you didn't, how did you get here?

* * *

**

I miss you, I'm going back home to the West Coast.

I wish you would've put yourself in my suitcase

I love you, standing all alone in a black coat

I miss you, I'm going back home to the West Coast.

It's always rainy in London. Sarah kinda likes it. The mindless day to day of sunshine and killing is offset by the dab, dreary, rainfall. It cleanses. She's wearing a loose gray jacket, jeans, boots, and her wedding ring. Her hair is in a ponytail. She's sitting at a small cafe that happens to be across the street from a suit shop that Oliver Burns just walked into.

Oliver Burns is the American ambassador to Turkey, who happens to like his suits made by the Brits. Oh, and he likes to start gruesome civil wars in order to make some pocket change. She wants to kill him.

She gets bored waiting. So she crosses the street and goes into the shop, naturally. Burns brought his body guards with him, but she doesn't see them anywhere. At first. And then she's surrounded. Three men form a triangle around her, all holding shiny guns. They're shouting at her, telling her to freeze, telling her to drop her weapons, telling her to put her hands up. Sarah is kinda tired of being told what to do. She's taken orders for too long, orders got her where she is now, and disobeying orders is what's going to get her back.

She moves as if to slowly remove a gun tucked in her jeans, which, of course, she has no intention of doing. As the men follow the trail of her hands, her left leg lashes out, disarming the three men in a flash. They quickly stumble for their weapons. Sarah takes hold of one man's head and throws him into the two others. As they struggle to get gain their balance, she lashes out with an elegant kick to the first man's neck. He falls to the floor. The second man receives the palm of her hand to his nose, effectively lodging bits of cartilage into his brain, knocking him unconscious. The third man is pointing his gun at her.

Don't you move, Bitch.

And, well, as previously mentioned, Sarah doesn't like being told what to do. Without even bothering to mislead the man, she quickly spins out, kicking the gun away. The man manages a shot off, but its wide. She drops him with a successive kick to the stomach, followed by a punch to his jaw. It was almost too easy.

She starts to drag the bodies off to the side. Unconscious men blocking the door would be bad for business, and Sarah Walker isn't one to be inconsiderate. Somehow, the bodies are too heavy, and her arms just aren't functioning. And then she sees blood. On the floor, on her clothes, on her arm. And then she feels pain. And then she realizes that the man hadn't missed. Well, shit. She doesn't have time to stuff the bodies. She needs to kill Burns and get out of here. She drops everything and makes for the private dressing room in the back of the store. Her hand is already on the knife tucked in her pants when she opens the door.

Freeze!

The man wearing the suit with pins turns and chuckles. He isn't frightened, which, to Sarah, is unusual. She's here to _kill_ him. He knows that.

I see you're unarmed Ms. Walker.

For a second, every particle of her being wants to tell him that it isn't Walker. It's Bartowski. And then for a second she wonders why that was her first response. She should have killed already.

She whips out her knife faster than most men can blink, and then watches as the knife kinda flops to the floor in a lazy toss. She's somewhat confused. That wasn't supposed to happen.

And then she's falling in a way thats more like floating, floating floating floating to the floor.

* * *

When the girls are at school, Anna in second grade and Emily in Kindergarten, full day, Chuck spends his time between his cover job and his other job looking for Sarah. He knows, technically, that she's gone. He's heard it in so many words from multiple, generally reliable, sources. The General was the first to call of the manhunt. And then gradually Casey ceased his own efforts. Next thing he knew, Chuck was having an intervention with Morgan, Awesome, and Ellie. They tried to convince him to move on, that his daughters needed him. He agreed with them. And then told them that Anna and Emily needed their mother, too.

He thought he couldn't do it alone. And now Sarah has been gone for practically six months, and he still doesn't think he can do it alone. Yeah, sure, he can get them dressed and fed and off to school. He helps them with their homework and teaches them right from wrong. He monitors their play-dates and stands up for them. He loves them with all his heart. He wishes he could share it with his wife. All he wants is to grow old with his family, his whole family.

* * *

When Sarah wakes up, she doesn't know where she is. And where she used to be is a little bit fuzzy, too. Her arm is throbbing, and she has a sensitive headache. Thankfully, the room is dark.

Good day, Ms. Walker

_It's Bartowski!_

Sarah silently tries to find the source of the voice. Her mind is screaming for rest, her arming is screaming for medical attention. Oh, that's a bullet hole. She's been shot. Is that how she was captured? No... no. She was shot, but then she saw Burns, and she tried to kill him...

You tried to kill me, Ms. Walker, and I don't really like people that try to kill me.

She heard his footsteps moving closer, and she tested her bonds. Her injured arm protested the movement, and she found that she was cuffed to a chair. Her legs were free. Rookie mistake.

You're going to tell me why you want to kill me, and who told you to do it.

She notices that the jacket she was wearing is gone, leaving her a black tank top. Her knives are missing... except the one in the heel of her boot. That one is probably still there. Men are afraid of women's shoes, he wouldn't have bothered to check. Burns picked up one of her knives off a table.

_Hmmm. That's mine._

Now, answer my question. I don't want to have to convince you...

Well, she figures, she may as well humor him.

I want to kill you so I can go home.

He stops menacingly welding her knife, and gives her an odd look.

Seriously? That's it? How am I stopping you?

Once I got there, you would kill me. _And my family._

True. So I guess you want to go home and live?

She decides that his questions are kinda boring. She focuses on the handcuffs. What had Casey always said? Something about the knuckles, or the pinky?

Come on now, Ms. Walker. We were doing so well! Here's another question. What do you know about AFRO?

The ridiculous acronym reminds Sarah of Chuck, her Chuck. In this torture situation, he would have been fairly calm, he'd gotten better about needles after the birth of Anna. He would be worried about the children. He would try and give Burns one of his evil eyes, the ones that Sarah found adorable, and not all that evil. And then he would flash on the acronym. Burns had said it with enough gusto that Sarah could practically see Chuck's eyes rolling back into his head.

Instead, Sarah mentally listed everything she had learned about AFRO over the past six months. A flash of her own, if you will. The members were all corrupt ambassadors set on world domination. AFRO was the brain child of Burns and an unknown conspirator, and if Sarah didn't eliminate them, they would kill her.

Burns took her silence as a non-answer, and gently pressed the tip of the knife against the bullet hole in her arm, she hissed, but didn't answer. Handcuffs were easy, you see. You have this little bone in your thumb, and if you apply enough torque...

The pop of the breaking bone isn't heard over the other various noises in the room. Her screams, Burns' questioning. The knife pressing harder and harder into the bullet hole. She may be Sarah Bartowski, possibly the world's best super spy, but even she has a pain threshold. She passes out.

* * *

When the girls are home from school, he gives them everything he can. His time, his devotion, his heart. Anna struggles with her math, and Chuck can't help but feel proud every time she says:

Dad, I get it now! You can stop helping me!

He sees so much of Sarah in her.

He drives the girls to their karate class and watches them practice their kicks and punches. Their blonde curls flying with each punch. Sometimes Chuck thinks of the future. He'll be beating boys back with a stick, Sarah will be threatening them with her... stare. It can be very intimidating, no one messes with Sarah Bartowski's look. He's given in to it many times.

And then Chuck reminds himself that she's gone.

Now it's later that night, and Emily is waiting for her bedtime story. Chuck settles down on her bed while she picks a book.

Dad? I think it might be in Anna's room.

O.k. Em, hurry up, you need to get to sleep!

So Emily runs off, but doesn't return with a book in her hands. She leads her sister into her room. The girls give each other a look. Emily nods at Anna. Anna shakes her head. Emily bumps Anna, Anna pushes Emily. Chuck realizes that this isn't going anywhere.

Come on girls, what is it?

Anna and Emily share a look, Anna decides to speak up.

Emily wants you to tell us about you and Mom.

Oh no.

Yeah! Cause Kelly at school told me that her mommy and her daddy were destinated! And romantic! And she said that I wasn't as great as her cause she was _destinated! _

And, we just wanna know. Please, Dad!

Chuck chuckled because Kelly at school was _wrong_. Sarah may be gone, but no couple was more 'destinated' than he and his wife. And his two absolutely perfect children should know it.

Well... I know it may be hard to believe, but your old Dad used to be kinda of a loser...

* * *

Sarah is getting somewhat tired of waking up to dark rooms, and not remember what happened. Except this time, the large bleeding bullet hole serves as a good reminder. Her lap is covered in her own blood, and head is still pounding, and her thumb hurts like hell.

Oh, right. Her thumb. She carefully slides her hand out of the cuff.

Nice to see your awake Agent Walker. Again. You need to stop passing out on me, because, really, I'm not all that patient.

Then Burns is lying on the floor, her knife jutting out of his neck. Blood sorta squirting everywhere. But that's okay, she never liked these shoes that much anyway. She wipes the blood on the knife, both his and hers, on his shirt sleeve.

Well, Mr. Burns, I'm not all that patient either.

She gathers what gear she can find and heads for the neon exit sign. Handy.

* * *

Your mother was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, next to you two of course, but we couldn't date because we worked together.

That's a dumb rule!

Tell me about it, sweetie. Now because your Mommy loved her job, she wasn't sure if she wanted to give it up for a life with me. But one day, after Mommy almost died, she decided that she'd had enough, and that she wanted us to be together.

Geez, why didn't she just do it before? Why wait?

I don't know honey. I think we were both a little afraid of what would happen. So, like I was saying, we started to date. We convinced our big boss that dating wouldn't be so bad, and a few years later, I asked her to marry me. The End.

The End? Dad? What the heck? There wasn't very much destination in that story!

What are you talking about? We overcame huge odds and...

Daddy, look. You might have overcomed odds and evens and all that, but you totally didn't tell us. It was like: Once upon a time I met Mommy, we played will they won't they for a while...

How do you even know what that means?

And then we kissed and got married and had the most two perfect daughters ever. Boring. Come on Daddy, wheres the romance? Where's the action? Where's the _destination_?

Chuck pulled Emily onto his lap, Anna looked on expectantly. He ruffled Emily's blonde hair and laughed.

All right. You want destiny? I'll give you destiny, but it might take more than one night.

Emily patted Chuck's knee tenderly.

Daddy, take as long as you need. This destination is worth it.

* * *

Sarah staggered out onto the street. She had lost an incredible amount of blood over the past... however long she'd been in there. She looked for a clock... three in the afternoon. Hopefully it was still the same day. The strange looks she was receiving reminded her that she looked like a horror victim, covered in blood, slightly crazy, and wielding a large knife.

She needed to clean up, she needed to find more clothes, more money. She needed to find the unknown. Burns' partner in crime. Since she'd killed Burns without getting her own chance at the torture, she was at square one. She was working off the snake head theory. If she killed the leaders, the thug's income would stop, and she would be free. Free.

So, how much for one night?

Sarah whipped her head around, and the man was talking to her. She stared at him, open-mouthed.

One night? How much? Euros? 400? 500?

Oh God, he thought she was a prostitute. Just to check, she looked down at herself. Her tank-top was torn and her jeans looked more like cut-offs. Her shoes were ratty, and everything was soaked in blood. At least she had on her fashionable accessory: a throwing knife. The guy was into some weird stuff.

I'm a specialist.

_Sweet_! Aw, man, this guys will not believe this!

They walked together to an ATM, where he gets the money in cash.

Up front. No refunds, even if you get hurt.

Oh. My. God. This is going to be crazy, right?

She ignored the 'client' and started to walk off, as if she knew where a local motel was. She led him to a dark alley, and left him in a pile of his own drool. He never saw it coming. He'd wake up in a few hours, back on the prowl. But, with a terrible headache.

Sarah tried to keep her joy contained, she hadn't had this much cash since... ever. Even when she'd been on mission she didn't have much money, and now... she could call Chuck. She should call Beckman. She want to call Chuck. She could call both Beckman and Chuck... but Chuck doesn't know she's alive. She'd tried to call before and it hadn't worked, maybe that had been a sign? Chuck had always talked about destiny, how things had a way of working out. Maybe she wasn't destined to call him?

She was over-thinking it. She found a pay-phone, and dialed the secure CIA line, knowing that it would be another fifteen minutes until she talked to a human being. Automated voices suck.

* * *

And finally, after we'd completed the mission, I knew that even though your mom was the woman I was in love with, she would never love me, so I tried to move on.

Dad, how could you move on? This is horrible!

Anna, look, he'll move on, but _obfiously_, he and Mommy will get married because, hello? They did! This is the destination I'm talkin' 'bout!

Yeah, but I still don't get that you and Mom were spies. I mean, it's so unfair! You're only telling me now, and Emily is only in Kindergarten! Why didn't you tell me first! I'm older, you should have told me!

Girls, calm down. Don't you want to finish the story?

Yes!

Well, let's see. After your mom told me she didn't think we'd have a future together, I went on a few dates with a girl named Lou. Remember, that nice lady who made you that sandwich?

You _kissed_ Lou?

* * *

This is General Beckman.

_Finally_.

Excuse me?

I apologize General, it's just I'm using a pay-phone, and this is long distance, and I've been waiting for months to make this call...

Well... get on with it.

My name is Sarah Bartowski, and I've been on the run for five months. I would really like to go home.

The silence on the other end of the phone was unnerving, and costly. She didn't want to have to pretend to be a hooker again for a couple extra bucks. It would be nice to stay under a roof tonight...

_Sarah_?

Yes, General.

You're alive?

Um... yes. It looks like it. Please, General, I just want to see my family again. I need to see my family again. It's been so long...

Where are you? I'll have a team of Interpol agents take you to the nearest CIA facility, I'm afraid this isn't under my jurisdiction... but, God, Sarah, we'd given up on you.

I know, General. I know.

* * *

So for Christmas that year, I decided I wanted Sarah to know how much she meant to me, that she was already a part of the family. Your Mom didn't have a great family growing up, sometimes they didn't celebrate Christmas!

(_whoaaa_)

But at the Buy-More, a bad-guy held the entire store up, so I gave her the present early. It was a little charm bracelet that had once belong to _my_ Mom. The whole time she kept talking about our cover relationship, but when she saw the bracelet, she knew that it was for a real girlfriend. And that I wanted her to have it.

Oh, Daddy, you are _so_ romantic.

But Dad, what happened with the bad-guy?

Well, your Mom took care of him... in a violent manner.

She shot him?

I didn't say that! But, well, yes. And that messed us up for a while. I didn't like seeing your Mom killing people.

She killed him?

She did it to protect me, I learned. You gotta remember that girls. Everything your mother does... did... was to protect you. She loved you so much, that she would go to any length so that you were safe.

But we are safe Daddy!

I think this is a good place to stop! Alright, good-night Emily, Anna. I'll see you in the morning!

Awww. Okay. Night Daddy.

Yeah, Good-night Dad.

* * *

Everything happened quickly. She met with the Interpol team, and was escorted to a CIA base. She met with the new director, the one who had put her on the assignment, and was handed a plane ticket. She was going home.

At first she'd tried to argue. There was still another man out there! AFRO isn't dead! But the director laughed, AFRO hadn't been active since she'd disappeared. They weren't a threat. The man was probably in hiding, just as she had been. He was glad to have her back. Agent Walker.

She didn't argue after that, but she still felt unsettled. Maybe it was because it was Bartowski, not Walker. Maybe it was because she had been running for a reason. AFRO wasn't gone. They were waiting to eliminate the only person who could bring them down. Her thoughts followed her onto the plane, and many many hours later she was at LAX. Her thoughts followed her out of the terminal and into the taxi.

And they weren't supposed to. She was supposed to be happy, supposed to be overjoyed. Supposed to be maybe just a little bit nervous. She was going to see Chuck again, to see Anna and Emily again. Her little girls. She had her life back... welcome back Agent Walker.

_It's Bartowski.

* * *

_

When Chuck was almost ready to go to sleep, he heard a cab pull up outside the house. It was unusual, but he figured the Hendersons were returning from their vacation... but didn't they take the car?

He quietly got out of bed, and put on a shirt. He peeked out his bedroom window and saw a dark figure approaching the door.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. The girls. The girls, where are the girls, a bat? A gun? Do we still have guns? The intersect! I haven't used kung-fu in years... a knife! Knives were Sarah's favorite! Could I throw a knife at another human being? The girls, I have to protect the girls.

Chuck ran to the kitchen and found the sharpest steak knife he could find, and tucked a couple others in the back of his flannel pajama pants. He watched as the intruder used a key (how did he get a key?) to slowly turn the lock. The door opened tentatively. Chuck hid in the corner, out of the intruder's line of sight. The intruder walked into the house, gingerly letting his fingers trail along the wall, he stopped to look at pictures. Chuck quickly moved from behind, moving to put the intruder in a choke hold.

* * *

Sarah heard the squeak of the floor board behind her, and crouched low. The attacker swung his arm out, and she saw the flash of a knife. They'd already found her! Did he already take care of her family? Or had he been waiting for her?

She ignored the swell of tears the questions brought to her eyes, and quickly disarmed the attacker. She straddled him, holding the knife to his neck.

Please, please! Don't! You can have whatever you want, just don't hurt my family! _Please_! It's all I have left.

And she _knew_ that voice. It'd been so long, but she knew that voice. And this knife, she'd picked it out, shopping with her sister-in-law. This man... this man was her husband.

Chuck?

He reached up and turned on the light.

Sarah. Sarah, no, you're... oh God. This... this is a dream. I just.. I stopped these! With the therapy, and

Chuck had sprung up from beneath Sarah, and had started to pace. She was still kneeling on the floor, clueless. What does one say to someone who thought you'd been dead? Sarah rose steadily, testing the waters.

Chuck? This isn't a dream. I've been on the run, but it's over now. I'm home. I'm... I'm not dead. I've been trying to get back to you. For so long. So so long.

She choked on her words, and Chuck enveloped her. His Sarah, home at last. And he knew it, he knew it. She noticed his wet tears on her shoulder, still bruised and bloody. Her arm still bandaged from the gunshot wound.

Chuck held her at arms length, and noticed the injuries. She had a scar, on the underside of her jaw, that hadn't been there before. She felt his fingers traced the old cut tenderly. He saw that her eyes had more grey than blue. Her bandage wrapping her arm was bloodied, her ear still had caked blood from just two days ago. His hands moved from her arms to her hands, and he felt her rough palms, her dirty fingernails.

It's really you.

She laughed a little, to relieve the pressure that had been built up for so long. She gave him a sad smile.

It is me.

I would've waited a lifetime for you.

And she couldn't wait anymore. Sarah threw herself at Chuck, her lips pressing down hard on his . Her hands slowly remember their place. He slowed the kiss, letting the fire cool to everlasting passion. She wrapped her legs around his body, mentally using the excuse that she was too tired for the stairs.

He carried her to their bedroom.

* * *

She's in Burbank.

Yes, I know that she's dangerous, but her guard is down. She thinks she's safe.

I told her myself, you imbecile!

Just kill her, and I'll get you your money... fine, I have to go, another call.

This is Burke.

Yes, General Beckman. Agent Walker should have arrived home half an hour ago.

My apologies, Agent Bartowski.

I'll see to it, I plan on debriefing her tomorrow morning.

Oh no, not for another mission, not for awhile. I need her just where she is. I'll just make sure she's staying somewhere comfortable, ask if she needs anything... therapy.. a shooting range.

Yes, yes. Well, I must go. Being the director of the CIA doesn't allow for much free time. I have a meeting with the president, soon, and another call coming in.

Nice talking with you too, General. I want to personally thank you for your aid in bringing my agent home.

Click.

* * *

**A/N: Mwahhahaha. Guess what, this isn't the end! Look for a continuation of this story inside a story in my next story! The West Coast is over, but this drama will live on! Cause, come on, Sarah is missing for 8 months, not 7! A few extra notes: thank you for reading so much! This story is like, my first legit one ever. And you readers are awesome! And you reviewers are the best, nothing keeps me going better than the thought of a nice little review! So be on the lookout, my next one might be up in a week or so, and I'm pretty sure the first or second chapter will be a continuation of this plot! **


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